


Pineapples

by Faaaaaaaaith



Series: Disaster Gays in Space [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Bad Parenting, Could be all of them, Could be none of them, Dysfunctional Family, Family, I wrote this one for me but y’all can read it if you want, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Who's Exaggerating?, Who's Lying?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faaaaaaaaith/pseuds/Faaaaaaaaith
Summary: "And you both understand that the purpose of this interview is to, is to…" he flicked through his file. "To discuss allegations that your son Malcolm, date of birth the second of September 2123, currently thirteen years old, allegations that state that he is unsafe in the custody of you, his parents, and may possibly need to be removed from the family home?"
Series: Disaster Gays in Space [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599910
Comments: 42
Kudos: 37





	1. Lt. and Mrs. Reed

It was a happy seeming office: soft yellow walls enclosed a comfy but worn blue sofa which sat against the wall next to the door, an oval coffee table and two matching armchairs opposite. Behind them, a medium sized pine desk that matched the coffee table stood in front of the window, bare except for a desktop and keyboard, and a blue coffee cup for pens next to a barely hanging-on spider plant. The only other personal touches were children's drawings, of varying skill, that were tacked up around the walls. The shelves were full of colourful toys and video games, that looked well-played with, as evidenced by a few missing parts.

The door opened, causing the couple sitting on the sofa to turn sharply.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reed, so sorry to keep you waiting." The owner of the office, Mr. Abney, was an older, bespectacled, dark-skinned black man, with close cropped grey hair and a slightly harried look on his face. He was dressed casually in charcoal slacks and a blue, checked button-up, and carried a thick file in his hand, which he set down on the coffee table before taking a seat in an armchair.

"This is?" Mr. Abney gestured to the severe looking man seated in the other armchair, whose dark suit screamed 'lawyer', and whose lined, greyish face whispered 'too much time indoors'.

"Neville Thornton," Neville Thornton replied primly with a nod. “We’ve met.”

"Indeed we have, apologies." Mr. Abney started fiddling with a recording device, before setting it down on the table. "Could I get any of you tea or coffee before we begin? No? Then I'll just start up this recording, then, if you don't mind." He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "The date is the second of December 2136, Richard Abney, social worker, of the Leicester Child Protective Services, conducting the first interview with Mr. Stuart Reed and Mrs. Mary Reed. Could you both state your names for the record?"

"Yes, um, Mary Reed." Her smile did not reach her eyes and her hands were clenched in her lap.

"Stuart Reed, lieutenant in His Majesty's Navy." Stuart's jaw was as clenched as his wife's knuckles, his face otherwise unreadable.

Upon prompting, Neville Thornton stated his name, company and role as the Reed's solicitor. Satisfied, Mr. Abney continued.

"And you both understand that the purpose of this interview is to, is to…" he flicked through his file. "To discuss allegations that your son Malcolm, date of birth the second of September 2123, currently thirteen years old, allegations that state that he is unsafe in the custody of you, his parents, and may possibly need to be removed from the family home." He looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Reed over the tops of his glasses. Mrs. Reed, already white from the stress, had paled even more considerably.

"Understood," Mr. Reed said, curtly. His right arm was draped casually on the arm rest of the sofa, his white knuckles the only thing giving him away.

"And you have been made aware through correspondence the inciting incidence that prompted this investigation?"

"We have, and quite frankly we don't believe a word of it." Mr. Reed uncrossed and crossed his legs again.

"Why is that, Mr. Reed?" Mr. Abney was politely curious, picking a sheaf of paper out of the file.

"Lieutenant."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's _lieutenant_."

"Apologies, lieutenant. But you were saying?"

"Just that Malcolm has always had a rather fanciful imagination."

"For example?"

"He was always making up stories when he was small," Mrs. Reed offered, shifting forward. "Especially when he was playing with his sisters. And he likes to draw tall ships and come up with stories about battles with pirates. Quite the imagination."

Mr. Abney nodded. "And, in general, how would you describe Malcolm? Other than imaginative?"

"He's a little shy, but he's a good boy. We never had any trouble when he was smaller," Mrs. Reed insisted.

"He does what he's told, when he's told," Lt. Reed said, with no change of expression. He could have been made of disapproving stone.

"Would you say you're close?"

"Of course, but he's a very quiet boy," Mrs. Reed explained. Whatever she was about to say next was cut off by her husband.

"He doesn't like to cause a fuss, but if he needed anything we would know."

"The relationship my clients have with their son is of course a loving one." Mr. Thornton leaned forward. "I have here –" he took a PADD out of his briefcase. "Sworn affidavits from several of the Reed's friends and family members that can testify to that effect."

Mr. Abney took the PADD and spared it a glance before setting it down. "I will look over those later, they should be very helpful, thank you. But Lt. and Mrs. Reed, I have to ask you, you said that Malcolm liked to make up stories – has he ever made up anything like this before? Involving either yourselves, his sisters, or other family members?"

"No. Never." Lt. Reed was resolute.

"Never? He has never complained about his sister being, say, a bit mean?"

"Only the usual squabbles siblings have," Mrs. Reed insisted. "Nothing serious, at all."

"Can you give some examples?"

"Oh, you have children, you must know." Mrs. Reed gestured at the drawings on the walls.

Mr. Abney fixed his glasses, glancing around. "I do indeed, my sons couldn't pay a board game without arguing over it." He smiled fondly. "However, those are done by children whose cases I've been assigned. I find drawing helps them relax a little, and open up."

"They are lovely," Mrs. Reed said, smiling. "You must have a difficult job."

"It can wear you down, I will grant you that. But there's nothing more rewarding than helping a family through a difficult time," Mr. Abney explained. "You see, my job is mainly to work with families to prevent separations unless absolutely necessary."

Mrs. Reed let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Malcolm draws a little."

"Yes, you said he likes to draw ships with pirates?"

Lt. Reed's nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, and he glanced to one side. Mr. Abney took a mental note.

"He used to, never wants to show us what he draws now."

"He still draws those pirates," Lt. Reed said in clipped tones. "Along with other 'fantasy' scenes."

"He shows you his pictures?"

"Occasionally, he keeps most of them hidden in his bedroom."

Mr. Abney nodded thoughtfully. "My own sons used to hide chocolate in the back of their wardrobe, my wife and I were constantly pulling out clothes only to find them covered in chocolate. Boys always have such creative hiding places. Do you know where in his bedroom he keeps them?"

"Under his mattress, not really that creative."

There was a pause before Mr. Abney responded. "How did you come across them?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How did you come across his drawings?"

A muscle twitched in Lt. Reed's cheek. "When I was changing his sheets." His wife was staring at the table.

"Do you look at them often?"

"Occasionally."

"Talented?"

"A little."

"What kind of fantasy scenes does he draw?"

"Fairies, elves, aliens he thinks are out there, that sort of nonsense."

"Does he share his drawings with his sisters?"

"I don't think he does," Mrs. Reed said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"Just to get back to my earlier question before we were sidetracked – has Malcolm ever complained about his sister being a bit mean to him?"

"Just the usual," Mrs. Reed insisted. "Not wanting to share toys when they were little, you know."

"Just to be perfectly clear: Malcolm has never once said that his elder sister has hurt him, or anything to that effect?"

" _Definitely not_." The tick in Lt. Reed's cheek became more prominent.

"I see." Mr. Abney cracked open his file and started rifling through it. As he extracted several stapled papers he said, "But the thing is, I have several statements from quite a number of your extended family that contradicts you. They claim that Malcolm has often in the past said that Meredith has hurt him or threatened him. You can read them, if you'd like."

Lt. Reed snapped the statements out of his hand, and he and his wife bent their heads over them, flicking through the sheaf. He hesitated before answering. "Like we said, the boy is fanciful, and he likes to blame his sisters when things go awry: falling off his bike; if he forgets to take his medicine; if his medicine goes out of date; anything he misplaces somehow is his sisters' fault; never Malcolm's fault."

"Do you concur Mrs. Reed?"

It was her turn to hesitate. "Well, I wouldn't say he's lying to us, certainly –"

"But he never owns up to it." Lt. Reed cut in again. "Wants us to just believe his version of events, the boy's always completely innocent."

"And we know for a fact that his sister would never do such a thing." Mrs. Reed started to wring her hands as she bit her lower lip, looking earnestly at Mr. Abney. "I don't know why Malcolm is doing this."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Putting us through all this – if we could only talk to him, we could get this all straightened out. This is probably just a joke or a story that just went too far, and now he's too frightened to admit it." Mrs. Reed voice became thicker the longer she spoke. She didn't see the 'calm down' gestures Mr. Thornton was making, and shrugged off her husband's warning hand when he tried to grip hers. "I'm his mother, I'm sure I could convince him to tell the truth."

"And how would you do that? Convince him?"

"Tell him what he's doing to this family," Mrs. Reed said. "I'm sure he doesn't mean any harm. He just spend too much time in his own head, that's all."

"Actions have consequences, he has to understand that." Lt. Reed was successful in gripping his wife's hand this time. "This isn't a joke, or a harmless game."

"Would you mind if i go over the accusations?" Mr. Abney held up another sheaf of paper he'd taken out of file. Lt. and Mrs. Reed shook their heads. "It says here that on the tenth of November of this year Malcolm returned to his dormitory where his elder sister Meredith was waiting with her boyfriend, a Jasper Bardsley-Kemp, you're familiar with him, I presume. So, the two of them were waiting, and once Malcolm arrived threatened to throw his two pet turtles into a bucket of bleach if he did not agree to drink a litre of milk. Could you please describe to me what would happen if Malcolm were to eat any dairy products?"

"He's allergic, he – he'd go into shock." Mrs. Reed swallowed.

"So not a simple lactose intolerance, then?"

"No," Lt. Reed said as evenly as possible.

"How allergic is he to dairy?"

"Very." There was a vein becoming more prominent in Lt. Reed's temple.

"So, obviously, Malcolm would require hospitalisation if he were to drink it, which is what happened –"

"No, it isn't."

"I beg your pardon, lieutenant?"

"Meredith did not threaten her brother. I don't know what induced that boy to do such a thing, but it was not Meredith. Like we already said, he can be prone to flights of fancy. This was just another cry for attention." There was an edge to his voice now.

"You don't believe Malcolm's version of events?"

"Of course not."

"But this isn't Malcolm's version of events."

"What?" That drew both of the Reed's up short. They glanced at each other before turning back to Mr. Abney.

"This," Lt. Reed took the offered sheet and he and his wife looked over it. "Is a statement made to me by Malcolm's roommate. He was already in the room before Malcolm arrived, and Jasper wanted an audience. Both he and Meredith made the boy egg Malcolm on – he feels quite guilty over it." He gestured to the statement. "It's all there. How Malcolm drank the milk, became ill, and once Meredith and Jasper left, he took Malcolm to the infirmary."

"And what does Malcolm have to say about all this?" Lt. Reed asked harshly. He roughly handed the piece of paper back.

"Nothing at all," Mr. Abney explained, leaning back in his chair. "He's terrified. Won't open his mouth."

There was a very long pause. "Then who is making the accusations against our Meredith?" Lt. Reed asked. He was starting to feel a bit hot underneath the collar. "A teacher?"

"Your brother, Archie."

The vein in Lt. Reed's forehead looked like it was about the burst. " _What?_ "

"Apologies, I thought you were aware," Mr. Abney said smoothly. "You see, Malcolm's roommate, no I won't give you his name, told your nephew Callum what had happened. They are in the same year, aren't they, I have that right? Well, Callum went and told his older brother Finlay, and it was Finlay who told his father – your brother."

"He never said anything," Lt. Reed said through teeth clenched so tightly that there was a real risk of fracturing a tooth. "I've spoken to him, he never said anything."

"He filed a police report on the eleventh, after taking Malcolm home with him the day before. Were you aware that this office had granted him temporary custody on the basis of the interview he gave that day, and that of the ones your parents and sisters, Mrs. Reed, gave on the day after that?"

"We knew Archie was granted temporary custody, but we didn't know he was the instigator of all of this nonsense."

"He said that it wasn't the first time Meredith had tried to hurt Malcolm, and that you both were unwilling to even try and stop her from doing it again. It's all there in the documents I just gave you."

Mr. Thornton took them from Lt. Reed and started to look over everything, his brow furrowed.

"This all absurd!" Lt. Reed burst out, his resolve almost gone. "The audacity of you to accuse our daughter of this in the first place is outrageous! She's never laid a hand on him. And if this is all the evidence you have, hearsay, and the attention seeking stories of a child, we'll be taking our son back to school this afternoon."

"It isn't."

"What else could you possibly have?" Lt. Reed asked.

"Malcolm is also allergic to bromelain, is he not?" Mr. Abney started riffling through his files again. "And he's been hospitalized several times in the past for anaphylactic shock, also true?"

"It hasn't been that often." Mrs. Reed shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps once or twice."

"It was six times in 2128," Mr. Abney said, looking in the file. "Five times in 2129, and another five in 2130, the last being in July of that year. For those three years, Malcolm was sent to the Emergency Department on average every two months. Which is quite a significant amount, wouldn't you agree?"

"He was so young then, it was almost impossible to control what he was putting in his mouth," Mrs. Reed said. "He was with other children, if they had treats, then they usually shared."

"Doesn't he take injections to be able to tolerate bromelain? Who would normally administers those during the time in question?"

Mrs. Reed flushed. "I do," she said tersely. "It's on a prescription which we get from the pharmacy."

"And where is it stored?"

"In the fridge."

"And are you normally diligent about proper storage and administration?"

"Of course!"

"Then how do you explain those hospital visits?"

She went even redder, grabbing fistfuls of her skirt. "He must have eaten some dairy, he doesn't take anything for that."

"But his dairy allergy was only responsible for six of those visits. The hospital determined, and _documented_ ," he indicated the file again, "That the others were caused by ingesting bromelain."

"What does this have to do with Meredith?" Lt. Reed snapped.

"She started school here in Leicester when she was ten, correct? In September of 2130?"

"Yes."

"And came home to you in Malaysia every summer, Christmas, Easter?"

"Yes."

"You see, after that, the hospital visits follow a pattern: Christmas 2130, Easter '31, summer '31, summer '32, Christmas '32, summer and Christmas '33, and summer of '34 – only when Meredith is home for the holidays."

"That's quite a stretch, Mr. Abney." Mr. Thornton had been silent for quite a while. "Purely circumstantial, and by no means enough to separate a family."

"By themselves, probably not, no," Mr. Abney conceded. "But according to your mother, Mrs. Reed, Malcolm refuses to take any food from his sister. She's asked him about it several times, and he admitted to her that he has seen Meredith doing something with his medication in the fridge. He's also said that she's given him things like cheese and yoghurt, similar to the incident with the turtles. She says that both her and your sister, Sherry, have mentioned it to you, but you dismissed them. Would that be true?"

"No, none of it," Mrs. Reed insisted. She was starting to feel slightly ill, and weak in the chest. "Meredith would never hurt Malcolm."

"But has your mother and sister brought up their concerns with you?"

"It was hardly a concern, more in passing," Lt. Reed jumped in before his wife could say anything. "If we thought it was serious, we would have acted on it."

"Still conjecture." Mr. Thornton scoffed. "Mr. and Mrs. Campbell don't see their grandchildren as much as Lt. Reed's parents, there's bound to be some hard feelings there."

"Perhaps, but when I asked Malcolm about what his grandparents had told me, he admitted that he has said those things to his grandmother in the past, and further more that he believed them. Would you like me to go over what else they have told me?"


	2. Archie Reed

Three strong raps on Mr. Abney's door had him look up from the police report he was re-reading: A thirteen year old boy had been brought into the police station that morning by his uncle, who was requesting an emergency review of the boy's family situation with the aim of being granted full custody. Detective Chief Inspector Green had taken a brief statement, before arranging a meeting with Mr. Abney for later that afternoon. A quick call to the magistrate's office, and Mr. Abney had his hands on the boy's medical records – from the Health Service Administration and from the boy's school. He'd gotten his attendance for good measure, and all combined had not been pleasant morning reading for Mr. Abney. But he'd seen worse after all. Much worse, with any luck this could more than likely be sorted out with some counselling. With a sigh, he heaved himself up and let the man in.

Archie Reed was a skinny, middle aged man, with a beaky nose and stringy brown hair flecked with grey. Mr. Abney noted that although his clothes were neat and clean, they were ill-fitting and sure enough, his face had that pinched look of a man that had lost too much weight in too short a space of time. He sat on the sofa at the invitation and accepted the cup of tea, fixing it himself with milk and sugar as Mr. Abney set up his recording equipment.

"Cheers," he said as he took a sip. He was sitting with his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped around the cup. He glanced towards the door. "Will Malcolm be okay with your colleague?"

Mr. Abney settled back in his chair. "Claire is more than capable of keeping him amused, I wouldn't worry about him," he told Archie kindly. "But I was reading the police report you filed this morning, how is he?"

Archie sighed and ducked his head causing his hair to fall into his eyes. The longish hair wasn't a style choice, he just hadn't bothered to cut it in quite a while – Mr. Abney took in the split ends. "He won't talk about it; he refuses to tell me anything. He's exhausted to be honest, I'd have rather left him in bed, but I didn't want to leave him alone this morning."

"Understandable. Before we begin however, could you please state your name and relationship with the child in question? For my records?"

He took another sip of tea. "Archie Reed, Malcolm Reed's uncle."

"Paternal?"

"Right. My older brother is his father, Stuart."

Mr. Abney started to drink his own tea. "And is it correct that you brought Malcolm into the Mansfield House Police Station, address seventy four Belgrave Gate, this morning, eleventh of November, at around nine am?"

"Correct."

"And spoke with a DCI Green, who arranged for you to meet with me?"

"That's right."

"And are you aware that I have arranged to meet with Malcolm's maternal grandparents and aunt tomorrow afternoon?"

"I am now."

Mr. Abney offered Archie a plate of iced biscuits. He took one but just held it in his hand. "Now, could you please tell me why you brought Malcolm into the police station this morning?"

"I, uh, I got a call from the school yesterday morning, I'd just pulled into the school, actually." He gestured with the biscuit. He was a soft spoken man, but Mr. Abney noticed that he tended to talk with his hands. "My older two are day boarders, I was dropping them off. It was the school secretary, Malcolm needed to be brought to the hospital. Some sort of allergic reaction." He took a long draught of his tea, gasping slightly as he removed the cup from this lips.

"And you did just that? Brought him to the hospital, I mean?"

"Yes."

"Which hospital?"

"The Royal Infirmary is the closest to the school."

Mr. Abney made a note. "What time was he discharged?"

"Just after five."

"And were you with him the entire time?"

"I had to pick up Rory, my youngest, from school at three, but other than that I was with him, yeah."

"And may I ask why the school chose to call you, instead of his parents?"

"His father is a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, stationed in Malaysia. I'm the emergency contact for all of my nieces and nephews."

"How many is that, then?" Mr. Abney smiled at Archie.

Archie chuckled softly in response. "I have three boys, then there's Malcolm, and six of my nieces. My brother Harold's youngest is only eight, but she'll be starting Oakham all in good time. My house is utter chaos most weekends, they all come for Sunday dinner."

"Would you say you're close with them?"

"I like to think so." Archie shifted his eyes around the room, taking in the pictures on the walls and the children's toys and books on the shelves. He finally bit into his biscuit. "It was really my wife that started it, she moved to Leicester to be close to the boys when Finlay started school. Three of my nieces are in the same year, so she started bringing them off on the odd weekend. She just kept adding to the madness. I was stationed overseas at the time."

"Navy as well?"

"I retired in February after Corinne – my wife – passed." His voice was steady, but Mr. Abney could see his hands tighten around his cup.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, I can only imagine."

Archie kept talking unprompted. "I don't suppose you remember that storm in February? When they closed all the roads? She was out driving, and a tree fell and –" he broke off, ducking down his head, his eyes scrunched up tight. When he looked up to continue his voice was thick and his eyes bright. "She was killed instantly. I left the service to better be there for the boys."

"That must be very tough. How are you and the boys coping?"

"It has been difficult at times, I'm not going to lie," Archie admitted. "She was actually very close with Malcolm. He was having some problems when he first started school, acting out, you know, so she started getting a bit more involved." He chuckled ruefully. "He started feigning ill, so he'd get to go home with her for a few days, every now and again."

"What kind of problems was he having?"

"The other children bully him." Disgust laced Archie's tone. A very ugly look came over his face. "Started as soon as he set foot in the school."

"What do his parents say about it?"

The ugly look intensified. It was as though Archie had a bad smell directly under is nose. "His father says it'll toughen him up. Ridiculous." He said that last part almost under his breath.

Mr. Abney shifted in his seat. "Does that have anything to do with why you think he needs to be removed from his parents care? If you wouldn't mind coming back to what brought you in to the station this morning."

"Yeah, yeah, of course. It is partly." Archie looked pained to be saying this and continued almost reluctantly. "It's his older sister. When I took Malcolm home after the hospital, my oldest, Finlay, told me as soon I got Malcolm into bed, told me that Meredith – his sister – had forced him to drink some milk."

That threw Mr. Abney. Whatever be had been expecting, it was not that. "Milk?"

"Malcolm is allergic to dairy, his throat completely closes up. It's _very_ dangerous."

"And is Meredith aware of this?"

"Everyone is," Archie scoffed. "He's spent more than one Christmas in the emergency department."

"And according to Finlay, Meredith forced Malcolm to drink something that she knew would cause him serious harm?"

Archie nodded.

"How did she force him? Threats; physical force?"

Archie drank some more tea, but winced when he realised it had gone cold. As Mr. Abney topped up his cup he continued. "Thank you. Anyway, Malcolm has these two pet turtles, that he shares with his roommate, Gavin. While Malcolm was in the bathroom before school started, her and her boyfriend forced Gavin to let them into the room. When Malcolm got back, they threatened to drop his turtles in a bucket of bleach if he didn't do what they said. So he did. Gavin brought him to the infirmary, school called me."

"You said _Finlay_ told you what happened?"

Archie nodded, taking a second bite of his mainly forgotten biscuit.

"How did he find out?"

"My middle son, Callum, is in the same year as Malcolm and Gavin. Gavin told him, Callum told Finlay."

"And Finlay told you." It wasn't a question.

"Right."

"How old are Meredith and her boyfriend?"

"Sixteen."

"And Malcolm?"

"Thirteen."

"And what is the boyfriend's name?"

"Jasper Bardsley-Kemp."

Mr. Abney jotted all of this down on a small yellow notepad. "And have they ever tried to pull anything like this before?"

Archie scoffed. He shifting forward slightly. "I swear, that girl is going to accidentally kill him one of these days."

"The bullying you mentioned?"

"Not just that - she was always too rough with him when they were small: pushing him off swings and slides; I once saw her hold him face down in the sand at the beach, rubbing his face in the sand. Their mother had to pull her off of him, he was sobbing, with his face rubbed raw and sand in his eyes. Stuart – my brother – told him to stop over reacting, that he wasn't raising a pansy. He was six or seven when this happened!" Archie had become more intense the longer he talked, his cheeks becoming flush. "I've heard other things from my kids over the years – Meredith is pinching everyone, pulling their hair, breaking their toys. When Malcolm was nine, he broke his arm falling out of a tree – I can't remember who told me, I think it was Rory, but he said that Meredith pushed Malcolm. Out of a tree, pushed him!" Archie shook his head and helped himself to more tea, for something to do more than a desire for more tea. "He could have ended up with more than a broken arm, for goodness sake."

Mr. Abney was writing all of this down. "Have you seen her hurt him yourself, other than the sand incident?"

Archie glanced around the room in thought, leaning back in his chair. "I've seen her push him off swings; she 'accidentally' hits him in the face with the rounders bat when they're playing – she always manages to miss the others, though; when we go out on the water, somehow Malcolm always ends up overboard when the adults aren't looking." Archie sat up as though struck by a sudden thought. "This time last year, I came home on leave, Malcolm was sitting on the sofa with his arm in a sling and a black eye – his shoulder was dislocated. My niece said it was Meredith and her 'gang'. Malcolm was mum."

"Which niece told you this?"

"Mae, her and Nell are in the same year as Finlay and Meredith."

"What are Mae and Nell's parents' names?"

"Harold and Tessa – uh Theresa. Reed. Harold is stationed in Germany at the moment."

"Do they all know each other well? I mean, are your nieces familiar with Meredith, and, uh, her 'gang' you called it?"

Archie nodded. "I'm pretty sure; I know it's Meredith, her boyfriend Jasper, a few other boys and girls, but I don't who they are."

Mr. Abney sat up straighter in his chair, his forehead creased. "Do they target Malcolm?"

"You have no idea how often my wife would go down to that school to try and sort it out." He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees again. "Every time we spoke it was something new. She wanted me to try and speak to Stuart, but he would never listen! Dealing with adversity is 'character building' and God forbid if I mentioned that it was Meredith and her friends, he'd lose the plot!"

"Do you feel your brother and sister-in-law are ineffective or unwilling to protect Malcolm from his sister?"

"They won't believe a word against her and I know for a fact that Mary's parents have said something as well. I think her sisters might have too."

"What was their reaction when you raised your concerns about Meredith?"

Archie huffed through his nose at the memories, knocking softly on the side of his cup. "Stuart told me to tell my wife to stop coddling Malcolm and not to indulge him 'playing-the-victim'. The child is covered in bruises half the time! Honest to God, he's the quietest child you'll ever meet - wouldn't complain if he was on fire."

Mr. Abney scanned Archie, noted the lines around his eyes and mouth. Archie placed his empty cup down in front of him and started tapping his fist into his now empty palm. He shook his head. "She was going to pick him up that night." It was so quiet that Mr. Abney barely heard him. Archie blinked and came back to the room, balancing one hand on his thigh. Speaking louder he said, "Corinne was going to pick him up. It was around one in the morning and she got a call from Malcolm. He'd been locked out of his dorm room, but he'd gotten into the reception to call her. Corinne told Finlay where she was going and when she didn't come back he called the police. She never got to the school."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Reed," Mr. Abney said softly. "She sounds like a very caring woman."

Archie nodded sadly. "She was." He looked away and wiped at his eye before changing the subject. "Malcolm getting locked out was sort of forgotten about in the days after, but I'm sure Finlay, or Nell, or Mae will know or will be able to find out who did it."

"Was it mentioned to your brother that Malcolm was locked outside during a storm?"

Archie shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, I was so busy with the funeral."

"Could you describe how your brother and sister-in-law normally are with their children?"

"Stuart is… reserved. And that extends to how he interacts with his children. Unless of course it's displeasure, which he has in spades. Bit extra for Malcolm."

"Displeasure in what? If you don't mind telling me."

"Malcolm likes to draw," Archie said. "But he doesn't show his parents. In his bedroom at his parents he keeps his pictures hidden – Stuart goes rooting through his room to find them, make sure he's not drawing anything Stuart would disapprove of. Which of course he is, so Stuart has a go at him, Malcolm picks a new hiding spot, Stuart pokes around again, it's a ridiculous cycle."

"Has Malcolm said this to you?"

"Stuart. ' _Guess what nonsense that boy is drawing now, if he thinks he's doing art for GCSEs, he's got another thing coming_.' He's proud of himself – tip-top parenting."

"So he's not supportive of his son's interests?"

"And tries to force his own on him. Been trying for years to get him to play lacrosse or rugby, the fact that Malcolm doesn't like them be damned. And you should hear him when we try to go out onto the water: ' _You've been able to swim since before you could walk, stop this idiocy; Fear of water in a Reed is an embarrassment, do you want to be an embarrassment?_ '

"He sounds like he can be harsh."

"Just a bit," Archie sneered.

"How is he with his daughter?"

"Daughters, Malcolm's the middle child."

"Beg your pardon. And is there a difference with how he treats the girls?"

"Well, he's much more patient for a start. No pressure on either of them to join the service, but woe betide Malcolm if he ever decides to do anything else."

"Does he want to join the navy?"

Archie shrugged. "He says he does, he definitely knows more than my boys about old battles and types of ships. He's done some nice paintings of tall ships," he added as an afterthought. "Stuart approves of those of course."

"What about his time – you said he was in the service, is he away from home much?"

"About half the year in total: three months on; three months off."

"And does he try to spend as much time as possible with his children?"

Archie nodded contemplatively. "Oh, yeah, he does. I can't fault him for that to be honest. He and Malcolm are always going off on boys camping and sailing trips, you know. When mine and my other brother's leave lines up we try to spend weekends and holidays together, and with our parents."

"Your other brother, Harold? Harold has five daughters and four of them are in the same school as your older two boys, Malcolm, and his two sisters." That wasn't a question.

"We all went there, Dad, Grandad, whole lot."

"Your family seems very close knit," Mr. Abney observed, fixing his glasses behind his ear.

"We are," Archie said quickly. "I talk to my brothers every week."

"What about the children?"

"Oh, yeah, they always played together when they were little and Finlay's always with Nell and Mae."

"What about Meredith? Aren't they similar in age?"

Archie glanced towards the door, pressing his lips together. "She has her own friends."

"They don't get on with her?"

"They hate Jasper."

Mr. Abney crossed his legs, folding his arms in his lap. "What's he like?"

"He's a piece of shit," Archie almost spat it, his nostrils flaring. "Callum and Malcolm are terrified of him. But… his father is a Commodore and his aunt is the headmistress." His eyes narrowed. "Stuart will never back me up, it'd be career suicide."

Mr. Abney filed that away for later. "Mr. Reed, I'd be very interested in getting Finlay's opinion on this matter. Could you possibly bring him in the day after tomorrow?"


	3. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell

"I cried the day my daughter got married and it wasn't from joy."

Mrs. Campbell dunked her biscuit in her tea before popping the whole thing in her mouth and taking another. Mr. Abney barely had time to set up his tape recorder before she started talking, her husband chiming in with clarifications every now and again in his gruff Glasgow accent. Mr. Abney actually had to ask her to backtrack so he could get their names and relation to Malcolm.

"Stuart can be a wee bit uptight," Mr. Campbell said. "Strong and silent type, you know."

"Am I, to uh, take it that you don't get on?"

"I wouldnae say that," Mr. Campbell started to say, shrugging one shoulder. He was wearing a lime polo shirt under a maroon cardigan, and khaki trousers that showed too much ankle. Despite the fact that it was November, Mrs. Campbell wearing white, three-quarter length capri pants and wedged peep-toe heels. Mr. Abney saw that Mr. Campbell's socks did not match. "But we're not exactly close. Different personalities, you know."

"Like chalk and cheese," Mrs. Campbell insisted. "He's a quiet man, but when he talks, he never has a nice thing to say. He's always aggin' and moanin', it's like he won't let himself enjoy anything." She made a face as she sipped her tea. "Sugar? Cheers. That man never met something he couldn't pick apart and Malcolm's one of his favourite topics." She rolled her eyes, stopping her gaze for a moment on a detailed sketch of a ship done in black pen. She gestured at it with her cup. "Did Malcolm do that?"

"He did indeed, I spoke with him yesterday –"

"He's very good, isn't he?" She said, smiling fondly as she turned back to Mr. Abney. She brushed a strand of her cropped white hair off of her forehead. "Knows what all of them are, I remember when he was small, he would show us what he was drawing; this one's this type of ship, this one's that kind, and he would go over the differences and how you could tell them all apart, it was all double-dutch to me, but he was so proud of himself, wasn't he Andrew?"

"Aye, he was. He was such a lovely little lad. Did he say what that one's called?"

"I think he said it was a caravel. Mrs. Campbell," Mr. Abney continued quickly, cutting her off. "I have to ask if you both are aware of the, of the _events_ of the day before yesterday?"

"And Archie told us everything last night." Her mouth set in a hard line and she exchanged a glance with her husband, his square jaw set.

"So you believe the allegations?"

Mrs. Campbell sat up straighter. "Absolutely."

"Not the first time, I'd say," Archie added.

"Pardon, but uh, but not the first time, what?"

"Not the first time she's tried to poison him," Mrs. Campbell clarified. "Malcolm point blank refuses to take so much as a sweet off her and he's told me because she's tried to get him to eat cheese by saying it's a sweetie."

"He's told you this?" Mr. Abney made a note.

"He was around seven, maybe eight, but aye," Mr. Campbell said. He indicated his wife. "I remember Elsie telling me, the two wee'uns were staying with us – why were they staying with us?" He turned to his wife with a confused expression that was quickly replaced by realisation. He snapped his fingers. "When Mary and Stuart took Meredith to see the school, that was it."

"Oh, you're right, I asked him why he didn't take a Fruit Pastille off her when she left, and he told him he was afraid it was cheese and then I asked him why he would think that, and he said sometimes she lies and says it's a sweet when really…" She trailed off and raised her eyebrows.

"When really it's cheese?" Mr. Abney finished, dutifully.

"Rightly so."

"Tell him what he said next, Elsie," Mr. Campbell told her, swiveling to look at his wife.

"I made a joke about how at least he could still eat pineapple, that boy loves his pineapple, he's deathly allergic to it but what have you. Anyway, his mother gives him injections that let him eat it, but anyway, to this he says that he's seen Meredith in the fridge (it's kept in the fridge) messing with his syringes."

"Somehow, almost every Christmas for the last few years, Malcolm's had to be rushed to hospital because he's gone into anaphylaxic shock," Mr. Campbell told Mr. Abney very seriously. "I'm not saying it's all Meredith, but…" he raised his hands in a 'don't ask me' gesture.

"So, am I to understand that you've never seen her do it yourselves, but that Malcolm has said in the past that his sister tampers with his medication." They confirmed it was. "I see. Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, I'm going to need to conduct several interviews with the family, including yourselves, could I, uh, could I possibly ask you to try and think of some examples of when you've seen Meredith or heard Malcolm _say_ that, that, uh, that Meredith has tried to hurt or upset him in anyway?" They said that they would try, but at their age, specifics were asking a bit much. Mr. Abney then asked them how Malcolm and Meredith normally got along.

"Oh, they don't get on, at all, at all," Mrs. Campbell insisted.

"She's too rough," Mr. Campbell clarified. "Whenever they're left along for a moment, Malcolm always comes running back in tears; Meredith pushed him, or something."

"Remember Brighton?" Mrs. Campbell put her hand on her husband's arm.

"Brighton?"

"You do Andrew, the three of them went off to look for crabs…"

"Oh, aye, that was nasty," Mr. Campbell nodded as he remembered.

Mrs. Campbell turned back to Mr. Abney. "The three of them – Meredith, Malcolm, and Madeline – went down to the rock pools, grabbed a couple of buckets so they could catch some crabs, and lo and behold a few minutes later Malcolm's back, _bawling_ , blood running down his face from a massive gash on his forehead –"

"And his knees were all scrapped up," Mr. Campbell interjected.

"Oh, his hands too," Mrs. Campbell added, raising hers in demonstration, still holding her tea and a half eaten biscuit. She popped the rest of it in her mouth. "Meredith was behind him, screaming ' _he's lying, he's lying, Mommy_ ', and Madeline, our Mary's youngest, she's come running after them. Well, she backed Malcolm up, at any rate."

"And what did Malcolm say Meredith had done?"

"She pushed him when they were standing on the rocks and he banged his head," Mrs. Campbell stated, as though it was obvious. "But then Meredith started crying and of course Stuart took her side."

"You said this was in Brighton?"

"It was."

"Could you tell me when this was?"

"Oh…" she looked to her husband, who screwed up his face in thought. "When was it Andrew?"

"I think it was after Meredith's first year in School, so about five years ago."

Mrs. Campbell turned back to Mr. Abney. "That's right, Mary had come to collect Meredith and her things and visited us at the same time. It was definitely before Malcolm had started."

Mr. Abney held up a hand. "So just to recap, to make sure I've, I've understood: Meredith had just finished her first year in school, so this would be end of June, early July 2131, yes? Right, so, her parents had come to collect her, and all of you take a trip to Brighton to the beach, where Meredith pushed Malcolm, causing him to hit his head. Would that be correct?" They confirmed that it was. "And did this incident result in a visit to the hospital?"

"Oh yes, Malcolm was throwing up, and then he was just sitting there next to his mother," Mrs. Campbell explained.

"Sounded drunk."

"He did! He did an' all. Well, Mary got very worried, so her and Stuart took Malcolm to the hospital while we stayed with the girls and of course –" she threw up her hands. "Concussion. And stitches."

Mr. Abney made a note to check Malcolm's medical records once the Campbells left. "And you said that his father took Meredith's side? Can you be more specific? If you can remember?"

"He just didn't believe him," Mrs. Campbell said, as though she was shocked at the very thought. "Him or Madeline. Meredith started crying, and saying how sorry she was that she wasn't looking after him properly, and it was all her fault that he slipped –"

"Aye, she did."

"– And Stuart just ate it up."

"And what about when he realised Malcolm was ill? How did he react then?"

"Was a bit worried then," Mr. Campbell conceded. "But he hid it well, didn't want Malcolm or Madeline frightened."

"So he does show concern for his son's wellbeing?"

"Well, yes –"

"But he did not believe Malcolm when he pointed the finger at Meredith?"

"No, no he didn't." Mrs. Campbell pursed her lips. "Never does, does he?"

"Told him to hold his whisht and stop that carry on," Mr. Campbell said.

"He's always blathering on about taking responsibility and not pointing the finger at other people," Mrs. Campbell said.

"So he thought that Malcolm just blamed his sister to avoid admitting he slipped?"

"Exactly that."

"And is this normally Stuart's reaction when Malcolm tells him that Meredith has hurt him?"

The Campbells looked at each other. "I'd say so, aye," Mr. Campbell said.

"And what did you think of Meredith's behaviour afterwards? The crying?"

"Well, she lies, doesn't she? All the time." Mrs. Campbell nodded emphatically.

"Could clarify what she lies about?"

"She puts on the crocodile tears," Mr. Campbell said. "As soon as her parents turn their backs, she's happy out. And we've watched her give him more than one bang – lies about that, too."

"Poor Malcolm would just be there, playing on his own or with Madeline, and here she comes and just –" She mimed striking someone with her free hand. "Or she'll push him away from toys if she wants a go."

"She don't want a go, though, does she?" Mr. Campbell turned to his wife.

"No!" Mrs. Campbell swung back to face Mr. Abney "She'll be happily doing anything else, playing on her own, or what have you, and as soon as Malcolm wants it, suddenly, she does."

"But she wouldnae just try and get it before him or take it off him."

"She'd watch him," Mrs. Campbell explained. "Watched him and waited. And she would keep her eye on us as well, I could see her watching, and as soon as we looked away, we'd turn back and Malcolm is on the ground, bawling his eyes out and here's herself saying he 'just fell'. _Every. Poxy. Time_."

"I think she's jealous, Malcolm and Madeline are such good pals, you see," Mr. Campbell said. Up until that point he'd refrained from any of the tea or biscuits but chose now to pour some from the teapot in front of him. "There's no' two years between them."

"Fourteen months."

"Aye, just that – so they've always been close."

Mr. Abney jotted down a reminder to bring up how Meredith and Malcolm normally played together when they were younger, but thought that it was time to move on to how the two currently interact.

"Malcolm only hides from her," Mrs. Campbell said. "He'll go off somewhere with Madeline, and we won't see hair nor hide of either of them until tea time."

"Not always, Elsie," Mr. Campbell said. He spoke directly to Mr. Abney. "When it looks like Meredith is looking for trouble Maddy will ask Meredith to play or help her with something else – distract her from Malcolm, you know."

"Can you think of an example?"

Mr. and Mrs. Campbell glanced at each other. "Nothing is coming to mind, exactly," Mrs. Campbell said slowly. "It's been awhile since we've had all three of them in the house."

"You live in Birmingham?"

"Moved back round about six years ago." Mr. Campbell sat up straighter. "Elsie's mother got sick."

"We've spent enough time Glasgow, I should think," Mrs. Campbell insisted. "We moved there when Mary started Uni; Sherry was only a baba and we didn't even have Georgina."

"Quite a large age-gap between them, isn't, isn't there?"

"Mary was seventeen when we had Sherry; let me tell you, that was a bit of a shock for all of us!"

"Georgina five years later was a bigger 'un!" Mr. Campbell said, turning to look at his wife, putting his hand on her knee. "We only ever planned on the one!" He chuckled.

"It's funny though, because Mary was raised in Birmingham, she sounds like me and says 'mom', but the other two sound like him." She jerked her thumb at her husband. "It's all 'mum' from them, and all."

"Is Mary, er, close with her sisters?"

"Not exactly," Mrs. Campbell confessed. "She was at uni when the other two were small, and she was married young – "

"Aye, so where we."

"Well, we were younger again, I will say that, but I wanted to stay at home with the children." Mrs. Campbell said. "Mary never had a say in it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Mary was an art teacher," Mr. Campbell clarified. "She loved it, loves art, but she left her job when she and Stuart got married."

"Like I said – I cried the day they were married." Mrs. Campbell nodded emphatically.

"And do your other two daughters have much contact with Mary's children?" Mr. Abney asked.

"Not really, to be frank." Mr. Campbell took a big gulp of tea. "They're still at uni in St. Andrew's, don't come down much."

"Sherry's doing a PhD in history, and Georgina's doing primary teaching."

"Something about the atomic bomb, Sherry's research."

"She's told us the title so many times, but we can't remember it for the life of us."

"Atomic something-or-other."

"She is a smart one, though."

"Oh, _so_ clever –"

"I've contacted the both of them, but I'm still waiting for a reply from Georgina." Mr. Abney was finally able to get a word in.

"Sherry is sorry she had to cancel on you today," Mrs. Campbell said, frowning. "Her supervisor delayed her, so she missed the train this morning and the next one's not until this evening."

Mr. Abney pursed his lips. "I understand," he replied tersely. "These things happen. But I'm wondering if there's anything else you'd like to tell me about Meredith and Malcolm?"

On and on and on and on Mrs. Campbell went, with occasional interjections from her husband. Mr. Abney was content to let her speak. He had much to ask her middle daughter the next day.


	4. Mr. Abney

Richard Abney

Office of Children's Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

12.11.36

Kiki Kipchoge

Secondary School Offices

Ofsted

4 Merus Ct

Leicester LE19 1RJ

England

Dear Kiki,

I am writing in relation to a child who was brought in to see me yesterday by his paternal uncle after being referred to my office by the police. He attends Oakham School, Oakham LE15 6DT, as a boarder, and has since September 2134, along with his two sisters, one older aged sixteen and one younger aged eleven. It is the opinion of my office that the child is being abused by his elder sister and her boyfriend at said school. There is a possibility that other teenagers are involved in inflicting the abuse, as reference has been made to their friends and 'gang'. Due to the fact that the boyfriend is the nephew of the school's headmistress there is concern that the faculty are neglecting their duty of care to the child in question.

A criminal investigation has also been opened into the actions of the two teenagers, in which I believe it necessary to perform an audit of the school; I have attached the case primary's information to this email. Once the two of you touch base we can arrange a meeting for some time next week, as I will be interviewing the child's relatives for the rest of this week and early next.

I have attached the medical records compiled by the school; the school does not upload its own records to the centralized system but does make use of records on the system. As such, the school nurse is the only one with access the child's full records, which when read together are unpleasant. There is the question as to why the nurse has never reported suspicions of abuse before. I have attached the report I am compiling on the child and will be Ccing DCI Green in on this email. Please bear in mind that most of the incidents detailed occurred on school grounds.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Kind regards,

Richard Abney

PS. My regards to Daria and the children. Barbara and I were just saying how we had to have you two over for dinner in the near future.

**Summary**

The child is a thirteen year old boy, who cooperated minimally with this office when interviewed for the first time, on the 11.11.36. He was extremely withdrawn and anxious; he is fearful of the reactions of both his elder sister and his parents and regarded myself and my colleague with suspicion throughout the interview. He does not have the independence associated with a child of his age, being overly reliant on his elder and younger sisters, and elder cousins. There is ample evidence of longstanding physical and emotional abuse being inflicted by is elder sister, sixteen, and possibly her boyfriend, also sixteen. Despite claiming to have a good relationship with both of his parents, they seem to be either oblivious or in denial about how their eldest daughter treats their younger two children.

**Report in Full**

The child was brought in by his uncle on the 11.11.36 at 13:10; after first speaking to his uncle, the child was then interviewed in the presence of a child advocate, Claire Phelan. It was explained that the purpose of the interview was to determine what exactly had happened the day before and why he had consumed something he knew would cause serious harm – a gallon of milk, the child being highly allergic to dairy; it was also explained that his uncle had made some accusations against his elder sister and he would be asked some uncomfortable questions to clarify those accusations. Both Ms. Phelan and I were satisfied that the child understood what was required and the consequences of answering those questions.

**Appearance**

He appeared pale, tired, and withdrawn, though his clothes were neat and clean, and his hair tidy. He did not react when his uncle stated that he was to wait outside.

**Behaviour**

Throughout the interview the child made very little eye contact and it was difficult to establish any rapport. He played with his hands until offered drawing utensils; He seemed eager to be allowed to draw and largely stared at his drawing throughout the interview; he fidgeted by playing with the pens and the edges of the paper he was drawing on; he refused any refreshments.

**Speech**

Most answers were monosyllabic, the longest answers were only a few words; he did not display vocabulary expected of a child his age, though this may be due to shyness. At first glance he seems a very soft spoken child. The child required a lot of prompting and follow-on questions in order for a clear picture of the situation to emerge; as a result it was quite difficult not to ask leading questions.

**Mood and Affect**

He admitted to feeling worried and scared; this could be observed with the way he was fidgeting; the child was clearly uncomfortable throughout the interview; when pressed he said he was afraid his parents would be angry with him as he was concerned about what would happen to his elder sister.

**Content of Interview**

When asked if he got along with his older sister he only replied 'I guess'; he was more forthcoming with information about his younger sister, and answered questions about what they do together quite willingly. He did not enjoy speaking about school and implied that he has few friends. When pressed, he admitted that if he does not spend time with either his sisters or his elder cousins, he is alone and does not have friends in his year; he says this is because his peers believe he is homosexual and has a boyfriend attending Uppingham School – he vehemently denies being 'a poof'. This type of language is common amongst his classmates and his family. His cousin, Callum, does not want to spend time with him anymore, though he provided no insight as to why he believes this to be true. His main hobbies include drawing and reading; he does not play sport as he says that the other boys in his year do not want him in the dressing room with them. During P.E. he uses one of the toilets to change. When commenting on his sketch, he said that his mother, a former art teacher, taught him to draw and paint; this is an activity that they like to do together; neither of his sisters are artistic, though his mother attempted to teach the both of them as well. He wishes to do art for GCSEs, which he says is supported by both of his parents. He became tearful when asked about his late aunt, Corinne, and became agitated when questioned about why she was going to collect him from school the night she passed. He admitted that he had been dragged out of his bed and locked outside in the storm that occurred on the night of the 11.02.36, by some older students, but refused to name them. He managed to get inside by picking the lock on the front door and called his aunt from the phone in the school reception area. He only nodded when asked if he missed her and said nothing else.

He taught himself to pick locks from videos on the internet as part of his 'survival training' – he is determined to become well versed in all manner of survival and 'espionage' techniques so that he can excel in the Royal Navy, like his father. He is upset that he had to quit the Sea Cadets October of last year due to developing aquaphobia, and he struggles as a Founder Cadet in the school’s Combined Cadet Force, Royal Navy section; he only shrugged when asked what brought on this new fear and said that he wants to get over it so he can go out sailing with his family again. He did not get to go over the summer as his phobia has gotten to the point where he refused to get on the boat; his grandfather became annoyed and demanded that his father leave him there on the dock, alone. He doesn't like his grandfather as he says his father only becomes cross with him when the elder Mr. Reed is there; his father otherwise tries to gently coax him out onto the water when it is just the two of them. The most he spoke throughout the interview was to detail his father's family's history of serving in the Royal Navy, of which he seemed quite proud. He quickly sketched several different styles of boat and went over the ways in which they differed; he claims that he can handle several different types on his own and can't wait to get back out onto the water. Discussing this was the only time when the child seemed at ease. He claims he is close with his father, and speaks with him every Wednesday ( _*Edit: School phone records show that Mr. S. Reed speaks to his eldest daughter every Tuesday, son on Wednesday, and younger daughter on Thursday. The length of the conversation vary from fifteen minutes to an hour)_ , and a joint call with him and his sisters every Saturday. His mother calls him and his sisters every Sunday after they attend Church services.

The child became moderately more relaxed but still tense and nervous but spoke more openly about his elder sister. He says that the two get along quite well, but sometimes she can be in a bad mood. She is normally the one who takes him and their younger sister to their uncle's home on Saturday mornings, but she herself does not stay the night, only returning the following morning for Church. Every odd Friday she will take the two of them to the local cinema; she does not allow him to go alone as she says he is too young – the child agreed to this, despite being thirteen. The elder sister sounds overprotective and controlling, as she regularly checks her younger siblings homework to ensure they are achieving top marks and often has them redo their work; she does not allow her younger sister to go on play dates with day boarders (which the child describes as 'keeping bad influences away'); her boyfriend, whom she has been seeing for almost a year, often keeps the other children from bullying him, but only when he 'behaves'. The child does not see anything wrong with how his elder sister looks after him, though he says that his younger sister does complain. He says the two do not get along in the slightest and it's often up to him to smooth things over between the two; he doesn't want to give his elder sister 'any trouble' but his younger sister goes to great lengths to avoid her. He wishes that they would get along.

Not all of the injuries that were noted in his medical records were discussed but of those that were, the child claimed that he either fell or didn't remember the injury. When confronted with his uncle's assertions that his elder sister was somehow responsible the child grew visibly agitated again and evasive. It was only after several assurances that his elder sister would not be in trouble if she truly didn't do anything wrong and would not be allowed to retaliate that the child admitted that sometimes his elder sister can be 'a bit mean' to him, but only when something upsets her and she's normally sorry afterwards, unless it's his fault. When asked if she ever punishes him, he only shrugged. He avoided talking about physical harm and instead spoke about the following issues:

* His sister will sometimes invite him to her dormitory room but when he arrives, she has her friends there and berates him for 'being a baby that needs to see his sister'. This has occurred on several occasions

* If their mother praises him for his artwork, his sister will destroy said artwork. He has stopped showing it to his parents and takes care to hide it in his room at home in Bagan Datoh; his father does not appreciate it being hidden from him and searches his room for it. The child claimed that he didn't like how his mother made his sisters 'feel bad' for not being as skilled as he is

*She has locked him in the school bathrooms or storerooms around the school making him late for lessons on several occasions; he admits this is true reason he learned to pick locks

*She was the one who told the school he had a boyfriend – the other pupils berate/bully him for possibly being homosexual. She did this as she was cross with him for going to a birthday party of a classmate of his that she didn't like; she started to keep the other children from bullying him once he apologized and admitted that the girl whose party he attended was not his friend, though his peers still ostracise him. It is unclear if the school staff are in the dark about this or are indeed aware

*She will force him to sit with her and her friends during lunch, where she will go through his school bag and tell him off for not taking care of his books properly; she also forces him to have his sketch pad in his bag and will 'take the mickey' over what he draws. If he doesn't have his sketch pad with him, she and a few friends force him to get it. One some occasions one of his elder cousins will come over and take him back to their table; his sister has started to eat lunch where they can't be seen and is taking the child with her; on occasion it's just the two of them and the child says he quite likes it when this happens; he appears pleased with the attention

When asked about why he drank something he knew he was highly allergic to he replied with a shrug and could not be persuaded to answer for some time. Towards the end of the interview, he admitted that it was indeed his elder sister's boyfriend who forced him to drink it and when pressed reluctantly confessed that his sister was there as well but did not specify exactly her role in the incident. He shrugged when asked why his sister would allow her boyfriend to threaten him in such a manner. It was at this point that the child refused to answer anymore questions and asked for his uncle.

**Recommendation**

Temporary custody has been applied for by the child's paternal uncle, Mr. A. Reed, and it is the recommendation of this office that this be granted and extended past the normal thirty day period until the investigation by this office, and the parallel investigation being conducted by the Leicester Police, are both concluded. It is the opinion of this office that the child is in immediate danger and that contact should be prohibited between the child and his elder sister. This decision is based on Mr. A. Reed's statement ( _transcript and summary_ _attached_ ), the child's medical records ( _attached_ ), and the child's statement ( _transcript and summary attached)._ An audit should be conducted of Oakham School, to determine the possibility of neglect on the part of the faculty; a copy of this report will be sent to Ofsted; the child should be removed from said school; arrangements will be made to either attend another school or homeschooling shall be provided at the discretion of Mr. A. Reed. The child should commence therapy within the next few weeks; arrangements will be made by this office.

* * *

Richard Abney

Office of Children's Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

13.11.36

Neville Thornton

Shakespeare Martineau LLP

2 Colton Square

Leicester LE1 1QH

England

Dear Mr. Thornton,

As requested I have attached my preliminary report, compiled on the 12.11.36. Please feel free to contact me if you require any further information.

Kind Regards,

Richard Abney

An investigation into the home life of Malcolm Gordon Reed, aged thirteen, DOB 02.09.23, was opened by the Leicester Child Protective Services on the 11.11.36. Father: Stuart Gordon Reed, DOB 03.03.87; Mother: Mary Daphne Reed (neé Campbell), DOB 23.06.93. Mr. and Mrs. Reed have two other children, Meredith Elsie Reed DOB 29.08.20, and Madeleine Ivy Reed, DOB 20.11.24. The family is normally resident in Bagan Datoh, Malaysia, where Mr. S. Reed, a lieutenant in His Majesty's Navy, is currently stationed. The three children are boarding pupil's at Oakham School, Leicester, since September 2130, '34, and '35. The incident that prompted this investigation involved the child in question being forced via threats by his older sister, Ms. M. E. Reed, and her boyfriend, Jasper Winston Bardsley-Kemp DOB 17.03.20, into consuming a known harmful and potentially life threatening substance in the morning of 10.11.36. In this case that substance was milk, as the child has a life-threatening allergy to dairy products, as verified by his medical records. The child was brought into the Mansfield House Police Station, seventy-four Belgrave Gate, at nine am 11.11.36. DCI F. Green has opened a parallel investigation to determine the criminality of the act allegedly taken by Ms. M. E. Reed and Mr. Bardsley-Kemp. He also referred the matter to this office, which, based on Mr. A. Reed's statement in conjunction with the child's medical records (please see attached), has elected to place the child in the custody of his paternal uncle, Mr. A. Reed, on a temporary basis following a full review of the child's living and custodial situation. There is evidence of serious physical harm being inflicted on the child, between the dates of 05.05.26 and 10.11.36; examples include, but are not limited to:

05.05.26 – Dislocated elbow whilst visiting maternal grandparents in Glasgow, Scotland. The most common cause of this injury is force generated by pulling sharply on a young child's wrist. The child was brought to ED by his maternal aunt, Sherry Campbell DOB 13.01.10; she heard him start screaming while she was preparing a bath for the children and when she couldn't calm him, sought medical help; there were no other adults present in the house, only his other maternal aunt, Georgina Campbell DOB 15.02.15, aged eleven at the time. Ms. G. Campbell was watching television when the incident occurred, and reached her nieces and nephews at the same time as Ms. S. Campbell. Both were questioned by a social worker attached to the hospital, as is standard when children receive such injuries. Both were cleared of blame. It was decided that Ms. M. E. Reed, aged five at the time of the incident, had wanted the toy her brother had been holding.

01.11.30 – Left hand broken in car door whilst visiting paternal grandparents in Leicester, Leicestershire, England. It was determined that a great deal of force was necessary to cause the extensive damage to the hand; reconstructive surgery was needed; none of the adults present saw what happened. A similar investigation to Glasgow was launched – it was concluded that the incident was accidental on Ms. M. E. Reed's part.

24.12.30 – Concussion caused by a fall down the stairs in the family home in Bagan Datoh, Malaysia. No cause for the fall listed. It is the intention of this office to probe into this incident further as it one of several where the child has taken a tumble down a flight of stairs.

05.12.35 – Dislocated shoulder, fractured orbital bone, and a perforated left eardrum, Leicester. The child did not receive adequate medical care until his paternal aunt by his uncle's, Mr. A. Reed, marriage, Ms. Corinne Danvers, 03.07.90-12.02.36, picked him up for the weekend. This was almost seventy-two hours after the initial incident. It was the admitting physicians opinion that the injuries were caused by a beating, though the child insisted that he fell out of a tree on the school grounds. An investigation was launched; the child's movements throughout the day were tracked over CCTV footage, however most of the CCTV footage from around the school was damaged. It was unclear if the child exited the school buildings long enough to gain his injuries in the manner he was insisting.

Between 19.04.28 and three days ago, 10.11.36, the child has been hospitalised a total of thirty-one times due to allergic reactions to either dairy products, or products containing bromelain. Due to the inciting incident that prompted this investigation, as well as statements provided by the child's maternal grandparents and paternal uncle, it is reasonable to conclude that some of these were due to Ms. M. E. Reed's influence.

Primary interviews have been conducted with the child in question, Mr. A. Reed, and the child's maternal grandparents, Mrs. Elsie Campbell DOB 27.11.70 and Mr. Andrew Campbell DOB 29.09.70. The child's maternal grandparents have described Ms. M. E. Reed as being hostile and jealous of her younger siblings, both of whom have expressed fear of her on occasion. Both Mr. A. Reed and Mr. and Mrs. Campbell have claimed, independently of one another, that Ms. M. E. Reed was 'too rough' with her younger brother as a child, though neither could comment much on the state of the siblings' current relationship and interactions. Mr. S. Reed was described as both by being harsher ie. holding him to a higher standard, on his son than his daughters; his brother otherwise described him as very attentive to his son. It does not appear at this moment that the child has ever attempted to confide the extent of the abuse to his parents, and was not cooperative on first interview.

Requests to meet with Ms. M. E. Reed and with Ms. M. I. Reed have been refused by their parents. Mr. S. Reed will not be able to meet until the beginning of the next month, Mrs. M. Reed has refused to meet with this office until her husband is present. Primary interviews are scheduled for the following days with the following family members:

Ms. Sherry Campbell – 14.11.36 (has been rescheduled twice)

Mr. Finlay Danvers-Reed – 14.11.36 (has been rescheduled from today to tomorrow)

Mr. Callum Danvers-Reed – 14.11.36

Ms. Helen Reed – 17.11.36

Ms. Margaret Reed – 17.11.36

Mr. Harold Reed – 17.11.36

Mrs. Theresa Reed – 17.11.36

Secondary interviews will be conducted with the above, Mr. A. Reed, and the child and his parents throughout the month of January. DCI Green and a representative from Ofsted shall be conducting interviews with school officials, which they will then provide to this office.

* * *

Kiki Kipchoge

Secondary School Offices

Ofsted

4 Merus Ct

Leicester LE19 1RJ

England

13.11.36

Richard Abney

Office of Children's Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

Dear Richard,

You were right, the child's medical records were unpleasant reading. I have arranged to inspect the school tomorrow with DCI Green. They don't know we're coming, but the Inspector should have the warrants and subpoenas by the morning – we're going to go as soon as they're in hand. The roommate was interviewed this morning, but the Inspector doesn't want to make any arrests before speaking with the faculty and the child's parents. He feels a much larger case can be brought against them based on the medical records.

I'll keep you appraised,

Kind Regards,

Kiki

PS. How's next Friday for dinner?


	5. Finlay Danvers-Reed

"Do you know how the other children in his year treat him?"

"I couldn't tell you, you'd have to ask Callum. But he definitely doesn't have any friends, I know that much."

Finlay was a lanky sixteen year old boy, already taller than his father but just as skinny. He'd awkwardly folded himself onto the armchair immediately on entering, and Mr. Abney suspected he'd just undergone a recent growth spurt; or maybe trousers being too short was the fashion at the moment – he'd have to ask Freddie when he got home. His checked shirt was unbuttoned over his T-shirt, though they both clearly fit, and seemed all-in-all more put together than his father; though less prim than his cousin.

"You're quite sure about that?"

"Oh, yeah, Meredith doesn't let him have any." Finlay rolled his eyes. "Tries with Madeleine, but she manages to sneak around her. Meredith pays more attention to Malcolm anyway, so it's not that hard."

"How…how, um, does she pay attention to him exactly?" Mr. Abney furrowed his brow.

Finlay shrugged. "She always wants to know where he is, what he's doing, who he's with. He won't go to the common room unless she lets him. She's a control freak; drives Nell mad."

"And Nell is?"

"Our cousin."

As Mr. Abney made a note in his list of relatives, writing 'Nell' in brackets above Helen Reed, he said "And how, do you and Nell get along with Meredith?"

"We don't."

"Simple as that, you don't get along? At all?" Finlay just shook his head. "Does Nell have a twin sister in the same year? Margaret?"

"Irish twins, they're eleven months apart."

"But they are in the same year? All four of you are in the same year?"

Finlay shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah."

"Do you have the same circle of friends?"

He shook his head. "Nell, Mae and I do; Meredith hangs about with her boyfriend and a couple of others."

"That would be… Jasper?" Mr. Abney queried. "Could you give me the names of the others that they hang about with?" He jotted them down and made a mental note to give them to DCI Green later; they'd have to work out an approach together. "Does Meredith ever feel left out, what with, what with the three of you being so close?"

"Don't really care if she does, to be honest," Finlay admitted.

"Were you ever close with her?"

"We used to play all the time when we were small, but she made other friends when we started secondary." There was only a hint of bitterness in Finlay's voice.

"Same friends you just mentioned?"

"More or less, some came and went, you know."

They would get back to that later, Mr. Abney decided, turning the conversation back to how Meredith and Malcolm currently got on. "You said she's controlling, is that right?"

"Yeah; she'd make him do his homework again if she thinks he doesn't do it right; and not doing it right means getting one single thing wrong." On being told that Malcolm doesn't seem to mind when his sister helps him with his homework, Finlay became outwardly cross. "Because she's got him thinking that it's okay! You should see him when he's going up to her with his copy books, he looks ill!"

Mr. Abney paused, and let Finlay take a breath before continuing. "You sound highly disapproving of how she treats him."

"Yeah, well, she's either all nice and sweet, or she's tying him to goalposts."

"I beg your pardon – goalposts?" Mr. Abney glanced down to see Finlay's hands clenched in his lap.

It was recent, apparently: in September, Finlay couldn't remember the date exactly, but somehow Malcolm had ended up tied to one of the goalposts on one of the far football pitches – completely stripped.

"They left him there overnight." Finlay's voice shook. "The whole damn night, stark naked."

"And who found him?" Mr. Abney started flicking through the notes he'd had in front of him, trying to bring up Malcolm's medical records from September.

"I did," Finlay replied. "He was only still standing because of how tightly they'd tied him up. I heard Meredith and her friends laughing about it, so I made her tell me what they were talking about," he continued upon prompting form Mr. Abney. What he was about to say next was cut off by a sharp rap on the door – it was Chris having finally gotten Finlay his hot chocolate. He blew on it before taking a sip. "I told Dad, but he wouldn't do anything about it."

Mr. Abney furrowed his brow. "What exactly did you tell your dad?"

"That Malcolm had been tied up outside and Meredith was bragging about it."

"And Dad didn't do anything when you told him this?" He found an absence lasting one day in September – due to flulike symptoms. Nothing more.

"No, nothing, 'cause Malcolm wouldn't say who do it; and he wasn't taking _my_ word for it."

"That must have been frustrating."

Finlay noticed Mr. Abney's surprise and scoffed. "Did my Dad say he was always concerned about how Meredith was with Malcolm? 'Cause he never really cared much before."

Mr. Abney jotted that down. "What do you mean by that?"

"The only reason Dad brought Malcolm in to the police station was because I took him in first."

"I beg your pardon?"

Finlay took a big gulp of his hot chocolate. "Dad and I had a big fight the night it happened – I told him that I was going to go to police if he didn't, ideally _before_ Meredith ended up killing Malcolm by accident. Well, it didn't look like he was going to, so, I put Malcolm into a taxi in the morning and headed to the police station; I rang Dad on the way and told him that I was going to tell the police everything. He met us outside, and took Malcolm in. You know the rest."

"And where did you go after that?"

Finlay shrugged. "Was late for school, didn't really care."

Well, okay then. Mr. Abney's next interview with Mr. Reed was going to be very interesting, indeed. "Finlay, would you mind if we talked a bit more about how Meredith treats Malcolm? We can get back to your dad in, uh, in a bit. Would that be okay?"

Not only was Finlay okay with that, but he pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. Unfolding it, he handed it to Mr. Abney, saying, "I don't have the dates right, but you can check it out with when he went to hospital, right?"

"I can indeed," Mr. Abney told him as he scanned the list – just a series of incidents, and dates beside them, no descriptions or other details. They were not chronological. He'd scanned Malcolm's file enough times to able to verify immediately the broken arms and skull fractures. "What was the 'fountain incident'? It says here that it happened May of last year?"

Finlay huffed. "So, Malcolm's quite good with maths and he ended up getting a spot on the Junior Mathematical Challenge team. Jasper, Meredith's prick of a boyfriend, his little brother wanted that spot, didn't get it, 'cause, you know Malcolm did. Anyway Jasper, Tim, and Will, Meredith's piece of shit friends, corner Malcolm, beat him to within an inch of his life and hold him down in the fountain in the courtyard." He leaned forward and place his arms on this knees, still holding his cup of hot chocolate. "You have something like that in your records, yeah?"

Mr. Abney did, indeed. Malcolm had been admitted to the school infirmary on the first of May 2135, with a broken collar bone, fractured skull and ribs, and several lacerations over his face and neck. Nothing about drowning though. The cause of the injuries was falling down the steps leading up to the school doors. When he pointed this out to Finlay, he replied,

"Jasper's aunt is the Head – pretty sure she covers a lot of it up. But anyway, Malcolm's been afraid of water ever since; he only told me why over the summer."

"This summer past?" Finlay nodded. "Malcolm did say, did say that he wasn't able to go on your family sailing trip this past summer."

"Oh, the Admiral was _furious_." Finlay's eyes went wide. "Doesn't take much to set him off, mind."

"The Admiral, sorry?"

"Dad's Dad."

"Right." He was going to have to get more information about 'the Admiral' before he finally spoke to him. "Why was your Grandad so angry?"

"'Cause how is Malcolm meant to join the service if he's afraid of water?"

"Is that something that's important to your Dad's family in general?"

"Christ, yeah. Not for me though." He shook his head. "I'm going to do anything else, not joining up with those nutters."

"How does your father feel about that?"

"He doesn't know, and I'm not telling him. He thinks I want to go to uni before going to the Naval Academy; he wants me to go straight in after A Levels, like he did, but I managed to talk him out of that eventually."

"Are you, are you ever going to tell him?"

"When I'm in final year of uni, maybe. Don't want the argument while I still have to live with him." Finlay paused for a moment then said quietly, "Wouldn't be a problem if Mum was still here."

"I can only imagine how tough the last few months have been for all of you," Mr. Abney replied gently. "How do you think you've been getting on?"

Finlay's eyes had gotten very bright all of a sudden. "Okay," he said, his voice thick. "Dad's a bit of a mess, to be honest. He's really gotten closer with his parents since… you know." He sounded like he was choking up slightly, and took another gulp of his hot chocolate to distract himself. "They were always pretty close, I think the Admiral gets on with Dad the best. But, year, they've been round most days."

"Do you find it helps to have that support?"

"I'd rather no support than them," Finlay practically spat. "Dad was never so militant about me joining the service before Mum died; I had to tell him I was just to shut him and the Admiral up. And he made me cut my hair." Finlay pointed at his close shaved head. He put on a deeper voice and drew himself up slightly. "An afro isn't respectable for a boy my age, apparently."

Mr. Abney paused for beat before saying "Do they ever make you feel uncomfortable about being biracial?"

"They don't say anything to me or Rory specifically, but they always used to go on and on about how Callum has such 'lovely blue eyes', and The Admiral makes jokes about how Callum is the only one they can be sure of that's not the postman's." He rolled his eyes. "And he's obviously their favourite. Out of the three of us, I mean. Meredith's their absolute favourite."

"How did they get on with your Mum?"

Finlay was silent for a moment. "Shouldn't we get back to my list?"

Mr. Abney conceded, seeing as he'd clearly hit a nerve. He looked back at the crumpled piece of paper Finlay had handed him. "So, we've spoken about the goalpost incident, the fountain incident," he said, ticking them off. Something in February caught his eye. "What about 'locked outside in a storm'?" He looked back up at Finlay. "Dad said that you'd be able to tell me who did that?"

"Who'd you think? Meredith, Jasper, Tim, William, and Dora," he continued when Mr. Abney didn't venture a guess.

"Are you quite sure about that?"

"Yeah." Finlay seemed insulted.

"How did you find that out?"

"Mae told me she heard Dora talking about it at the funeral, I confronted Jasper when we went back to school. Broke my hand on his face. Can't fight someone his own size, the prat."

"Jasper admitted it?"

"Eventually. Told him I considered him responsible for Mum's death and if he ever went near Malcolm again, I'd put him in the ground as well." A very ugly look came over Finlay's face. "Lasted a few months, but then he stuck his aunt on me."

"The Headmistress?"

"Stupid cow is always covering for him."

Kiki would need to speak to Finlay; Mr. Abney made a note to arrange it on the yellow legal pad he'd been using. Finlay seemed very pleased at the chance to speak to Kiki, once Mr. Abney explained that Ofsted stood for Office for Standards in Education, Children's Services and Skills. Finlay went on to list some of the other things that Meredith and Jasper had done to Malcolm, which included: throwing his school bag in the lake on the school grounds; not letting him eat lunch if Meredith is 'cross with him' and 'trying to teach him a lesson'; the beating that he received December of last year was because Meredith had been annoyed that Corinne had taken Malcolm shopping for new clothes for Christmas without her. She'd let Jasper do most it, but Finlay was sure she'd been the one to wrench his arm behind his back – he'd seen them, and had pulled them off of him, along with Mae. They'd gotten detention for their troubles, and Meredith and Jasper had gotten off scot free; they spread rumours that he's gay and let his classmates pick on him, and defend him when it suits them; when they go out on the water Meredith keeps pushing him overboard when the adults aren't looking. This wasn't a problem before summer of last year.

"Mum always tried to get Dad to say something to Uncle Stuart," Finlay told Mr. Abney when asked about how the adults in his family react to this. "But Dad thought we were exaggerating when we were little, so we gave up." He hesitated a long time before speaking again. "They used to argue a lot about it, but Dad said that it wasn't our place to interfere. Plus, he thought that if there was something really serious, then Malcolm would say something, or the school would notice. Mum wasn't convinced, though. She went to Aunt Mary about it, loads."

"And what did Aunt Mary try to do about it?"

"She just said that she'd speak to Meredith, she'd act nicer to Malcolm for a little while, then she's start acting like her old self."

"Do you mean physically hurting him?"

"She mostly just bosses him around. I think she starts rumours; Jasper's brother is in his year, I think they use him to start them."

"Finlay, did you mother ever say why she wasn't going to the police after, say, the goalpost incident? Of when Meredith dislocated Malcolm's shoulder?"

"She was making a list," Finlay admitted. "She didn't tell my Dad about it, and I can't find it now. I've been looking for the last three days, she had loads of stuff: pictures, she'd filmed Malcolm telling her what happened, like, loads. She was doing it every weekend. She was worried that if she didn't it wouldn't work, and then she'd end up losing access to Malcolm. She also didn't think Dad would back her up."

Mr. Abney perked his ears up. Sounds like she'd more or less done his job for him, if only Finlay could find the documents she'd compiled. "Do you know when she started this?"

"Last year, in March."

"So, so, March 2135. Do you, uh, know exactly what prompted your Mum to start documenting what was going on?"

Finlay drained the last of his hot chocolate in one gulp. It had long since gone cold. "Did you check Malcolm's right forearm?"

"What's on his arm?"

"Meredith carved 'faggot' onto it."

"I'm sorry – _carved_?" Mr. Abney picked up and went through all of Malcolm's medical files. Nothing about any arm laceration.

"Jasper and the boys held him down, Meredith did the handy work."

"And can you still see the scar now?"

"Oh, yeah," Finlay nodded. "She did it because Uncle Stuart had gotten some time off and took Malcolm camping over the weekend – jealous bitch."

Mr. Abney had long since come to the conclusion that this was going to take a lot more counselling and a more detailed action plan than he'd originally thought. "How was Malcolm after this?"

"A wreck." A faint flush had crept up on Finlay's cheeks. "He wouldn't come out of his room; Tom – his roommate last year – was waiting at the front door for Callum. I went straight there, his room, and Callum went to get Nell and Mae. School wouldn't call Mum, so I did. I helped her take him home. Mum was a nurse practitioner, and she managed to patch him up. Took a load of pictures and called Dad." Finlay looked down at his knees, his voice having gotten very low. "They were screaming down the phone at each other. Mum only stopped because Malcolm started crying. She hung up – and I asked her if we were going to the police. She said no. That we couldn't rely on Dad or the school to back us up and we needed to get make an airtight case before reporting it; she was the one who picked Mansfield Police Station – there's a lot of old Jacks in Leicester, Dad knows them all, and she checked out all the police stations, no ex-Navy there." He pointed at the list. "It's on there."

Mr. Abney scanned it, and sure enough _faggot on arm, March 2135_ was there. And that was it. "Was your Mum convinced that your Dad and Malcolm's parents would try to impede any investigation?"

"And my Dad's parents. The Admiral would say to get on with it, and Granny –" Finlay affected a rather posh, effeminate, Edinburgh accent. "This is a matter for the family, we cannot be airing our dirty laundry about." He rolled his eyes. "Cora does it better. Honestly, cannot stand the pair of them. Much prefer Grandpa and Grandma, but they're from Indiana in America and we only see them every few months."

"What is it about your Dad's parents that you don't like, exactly?"

"They cold and mean and the Admiral likes to treat us like we're in basic training."

"Could you give me an example?"

Finlay thought for a moment. "Cora broke a glass in their house once, this was a few years ago, mind, and we tried to cover it up but _Meredith_ had to go and skin on us. So, the Admiral lines us all up in the kitchen and gives us a talking to about 'responsibility' and 'consequences'. Can't remember who was crying, but he started in on them specifically. Like, he had a proper go at us, he did it whenever someone was annoying him, or we were playing too loudly."

"When you say 'us'?" Mr. Abney asked slowly. "You mean…?"

"All of us," Finlay said simply. He started counting them off on his fingers. "Me, my brothers, Meredith, Malcolm, Madeleine, Nell, Mae, Cora, Edith, and Harriet." He furrowed his brow. "Actually, maybe Harriet wasn't there. She's only eight, I think she was a toddler at the time."

"Can I just ask how, how, um, old your cousins are?"

"Nell is seventeen, Cora is fifteen, Edith is fourteen, and Harriet is eight. Mae and Meredith are my age, Malcolm turned thirteen in September, it think he's the oldest in his year, unless someone's birthday is the first of September, Callum just turned thirteen, Madeleine will be twelve on the twentieth, and Rory is nine, but he'll be ten in January. Do…you… want all their birthdays?" he asked uncertainly.

"No, no, that was just my own curiosity, thank you." But Mr. Abney had quickly scribbled all that down in shorthand. "Not many people would know their own cousins' birthdays as well as that, I'm impressed."

"Mum always threw a party in the house." Finlay's voice had grown quite again.

"You must miss her terribly."

Finlay stared at his knees again. Mr. Abney could hear him sniffling and wordlessly pushed a box of tissues closer Finlay, who took one and noisily blew his nose.

"It's not right is it," he asked gently. "Losing a parent so young." Finlay shook his head, but didn't look up. "Do you mind if I ask if you're talking to anyone?"

Finlay still kept his head down. "Counsellor in school is useless, and if I asked Dad to speak to anyone, the Admiral would shut that down."

"You're sixteen, they can't stop you," Mr. Abney pointed out. It was why he'd been allowed to refuse the presence of Claire. "I can very easily set something up." He was getting the impression that he was going to need to set something up for every single member of the extended family, depending on what else Finlay told him about 'the Admiral'.

After promising he'd think about it started telling him more about his Grandparents. His Grandmother, Caroline, was from Edinburgh, and Finlay reiterated that she was cold and mean and was more than happy to facilitate her husband's expectations of their grandchildren. "Everything has to be 'shipshape and Bristol Fashion'," Finlay explained. "He just gets this look on his face if it's not, and just gets so quiet if you try to argue back; he waits for you to stop talking and then just goes for your life. He and Mum did not get on," Finlay added after a moment. "She saw him lining us up once to have a go, and she lost the plot; she stopped letting us stay over at their house after that and only took us over for thirty minutes on a Sunday; she stopped leaving us alone with him."

"And how long ago was that?"

"Um, four years?" Finlay shrugged his shoulders. "Dad was livid, but he calmed down when Mum threatened to leave him. After that he only really had a go at Malcolm. Until Mum died, and they started 'helping' Dad," he added bitterly.

"Why only Malcolm?" Mr. Abney was curious about that. He vaguely wondered if Meredith targeting Malcolm was a learned behaviour.

"Because Uncle Harold doesn't put up with it anymore," Finlay said. "He kind of," he struggled to find the right word. "Redirects him? Yeah, he gets him talking about something else, and the Admiral will sort of go along with it, but he can't really do much when it comes to Malcolm; Uncle Stuart will start on at Malcolm as well, and then it'll be a pile on. But he's not like that when his father isn't around, that's the thing," Finlay said quickly, as though afraid he was going to get his uncle in trouble. "Mum said that Uncle Stuart and Uncle Harold are afraid of him; before Mum died, he and Dad were always at loggerheads over something, but they always made up; with the other two, well, they just go along with whatever the Admiral says. But Uncle Harold definitely draws the line at letting him tell off his girls for no reason; they don't see him much either and he stopped bringing the younger ones out on the water with us. And they don't want to go, either," he added.

Mr. Abney was going to have a very interesting conversation with Archie when he spoke with him next. Very interesting, indeed.


	6. Callum Danvers-Reed

“Do you spend much time together?”

“Not really.”

“Did you ever play together when you were small?”

“Sometimes.” Callum shrugged, his feet fidgeting.

“What changed?”

Callum took a while answering. Mr. Abney peered at him kindly, waiting. “We used to eat lunch when we started secondary.”

“But what changed?” Mr. Abney pressed. “You don’t eat together in school now, do you?” The only reply was another shrug. “I suppose it’s only natural to drift apart as you get older, and you each make new friends.”

“Malcolm doesn’t have any friends.”

“None at all?”

Callum shook his head. “They think he has AIDS.”

Mr. Abney’s eyes widened slightly, and he exchanged a glance with Ms. Phelan, seated beside Callum on the sofa. She had been a silent observer so far, to ensure that Callum’s rights were being protected. She was only there as a legality, really, having worked with Mr. Abney long enough to know how he worked. “And because of that no one will hang out with him?” Callum nodded. “Do you know who started that rumour?” Silence. “Was it Meredith? Or one of her friends?” More silence.

Callum glanced around the room, trying to avoid eye contact with Mr. Abney. He paused a moment before he folded his arms over his lap and leant forward. “Callum, I, um, I know that you’re probably worried about the effect that, that, all of this is going to have on your family, correct?” Callum shrugged, noncommittal. “I can believe that; of course you’re worried. But what your father told me two days ago was very concerning, very concerning indeed; and I need to know that your cousin will be safe before I let him go back to school. I can’t do that if I don’t have the full picture.”

Callum hesitated before saying in rush, “How much trouble will Meredith get into?”

“Ooh, that’s, ugh, that’s hard to say at this point.” He leaned back in his chair. “It depends on what she’s done, really. When I say that I want to help your family, I do mean her as well,” Mr. Abney continued when Callum didn’t seem convinced. “But my ability to do that involves knowing exactly what kind of, um, what kind of help she needs.” Callum still looked unconvinced. Mr. Abney changed tack.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink? Hot chocolate maybe?” After deliberating longer than was necessary, Callum asked for some orange juice. Mr. Abney stuck his head out into the reception area to ask Chris, the receptionist to get some; he sat back down opposite Callum and crossed his legs. “So, uh, so what do you think about all this?”

“What do you mean?” Callum looked confused. He was quite similar to Malcolm: same blue eyes and black hair, though Callum was taller and looked better fed; and where Callum was just pale, Malcolm had seemed sickly.

“I mean, well, I mean what do you think about all the fuss that’s being made over, over Meredith and Malcolm?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, what do your Dad and brothers say?”

“Finlay’s really worried,” Callum admitted.

“Worried about what?” Mr. Abney frowned, subtly shifting his pen to get a better angle on his yellow legal pad. He had to strain to hear what Callum said next.

“Malcolm will have to go back to his parents.”

“Callum, why would Finlay worry about that?” Silence. “Is it because they don’t protect him from Meredith?” Mr. Abney leaned forward, making direct eye contact with Callum, and continued in a low, gentle voice. “Has anyone told you not to speak to me?” Callum broke eye contact, staring at his knees. Another shared glance with Ms. Phelan. They both missed what Callum said next. “Could you repeat that?”

“My Granny and The Admiral.”

“Your Dad’s parents.” Callum nodded. “What did they tell you to say to me?”

“To just say as little as possible and let the adults sort it out,” Callum said guiltily. “But Finlay said we can’t trust them.”

_“We can’t let them keep doing this,” Finlay had said intently, sitting next to Callum on the latter’s bed. “They care more about what people are going to think than they do about anything else.”_

“What do you mean, ‘can’t trust them’?” Mr. Abney asked.

_“But what’s the big deal?” Callum asked sourly. “And The Admiral says that it’s none of their business.”_

_“Meredith is a psycho,” Finlay explained. “And if they’re not going to protect Malcolm, we need to tell this Abney bloke everything.”_

“Callum, what do you mean ‘can’t trust them’? Who can’t you trust?”

_“I don’t care about Malcolm,” Callum pouted. “Why does everyone care about him so much?”_

_“Because Meredith is a psycho,” Finlay repeated, more forcefully. “Mum wanted –”_

“Can’t my family just sort it out themselves?” Callum asked desperately. “Why do you need to go poking your nose in?”

_“Mum’s dead! She wouldn’t have been out driving if it wasn’t for him!”_

_“And he wouldn’t have called her if it wasn’t for Meredith!” Finlay shot back, angrily. “Fine, I don’t need you; Nell, Mae and I are going to tell him everything before Meredith accidentally kills him!”_

“I’m afraid we can’t, Callum,” Mr. Abney said sympathetically. “Sometimes, mums and dads need a little bit of help from people like us.” He gestured to himself and Ms. Phelan. “There’s nothing wrong with that, just like there’s nothing wrong with needing help from the doctor when your sick, or your teacher when you don’t understand your maths.”

Callum looked like he was waging a war internally. Looking like he’d come to a decision, he took a deep breath and said as fast as he could, as though he was afraid of losing his nerve, “Finlay said our Granny and The Admiral would try to make it sound like nothing was going on, but that’s not true – Meredith is always hurting him. She tied him up outside at the start of the school year and I know her boyfriend tried to drown him in the fountain in the courtyard – Finlay told me – and she’s the one who told everyone he has a boyfriend in Uppingham, and that he gave him AIDS, and everyone gives him stink over it.” Callum was speaking as though he was afraid of being stopped. “She locks him in the store-cupboards, she pushed him out a tree when we were visiting Uncle Harold in Norway, she steals his uniform and books so he gets in trouble with teachers, and, and –“ Callum searched very hard for the next crime on his list. “She pushes him overboard. Whenever we go out on the drink. But no one believes us when we tell them, so we gave up.” Callum slumped back in his seat, seemingly exhausted. “I hate her,” he added bitterly. “She ruins everything.”

Mr. Abney glanced at his recorder to double check he’d set it up right – he certainly hadn’t expected that intensity. “Can you tell me little bit more about how Meredith, uh, how she ruins everything?”

“She’s always telling on us to The Admiral,” Callum said. “She’s his favourite, she gets away with everything.”

“Sounds like The Admiral can get quite cross?”

Callum nodded. He puffed himself up and deepened his voice. “Children should be seen and not heard.” He flopped back. “He hates it when we’re noisy.”

“What does he do when he’s cross?”

Callum shrugged, and stared at his knees. When he looked up he said “He might have a go at whoever’s annoying him; if he’s really cross he’ll have a go at everyone.”

“What do you mean when you say ‘have a go’?”

Callum exhaled. He wasn’t happy to be saying any of this, but it was clear that he felt he had no choice. “He calls us names, tells us we’re stupid and lazy, and disrespectful; he might make us do chores; sometimes he won’t let us have lunch or dinner. A little while ago he only let Rory have bread and water for supper for a whole week because his room wasn’t tidy.”

Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan exchanged another glance; as the office’s solicitor, she was already wording the injunction in her head to prevent ‘The Admiral’ from seeing his grandchildren without supervision. She’d already gotten the cliff notes version of Finlay’s interview from Mr. Abney.

“He must have been hungry,” Mr. Abney said, sympathetically.

“Finlay’s good at hiding food.”

“Finlay got him some proper food?”

Callum nodded. “He always makes sure that there’s food hidden somewhere. And tells us where he put it. He has to keep changing it around.”

Finlay had already told Mr. Abney all of this an hour ago. Along with the fact that he checked on it regularly to make sure that it wasn’t out of date. He just needed his brother and cousins to confirm it.

“And what does your dad say about this?”

“He just made us all tidy our rooms again.”

Mr. Abney made a note of that. “Does he normally tell The Admiral no or let him do as he pleases?”

“They used to fight all the time,” Callum muttered. “That was before mum died.”

“And now?” Mr. Abney pressed.

“They get along better, I suppose.”

Mr. Abney leaned forward again. “Callum, can I ask you what else The Admiral does when he’s cross?”

He told them they were imbeciles; he told the boys they would never be good enough to join the service; he scoffed when Edith said _she_ wanted to join the service; he lined them up in a row and told them off for twenty minutes; when they were small he used to break their toys. Just calmly pick it up, and break it. No yelling, no screaming, he’d just pick it up and snap it; and if they made a mistake when they were out on the water, or the drink as Callum called it, he would make them redo whatever it was fifteen times and make fun of them for getting it wrong until they cried. And then berate them for crying.

“Does he ever get cross with Meredith?”

“No, she’s his favourite,” Callum repeated. “He gets her to tell him what we’re up to.”

“They’re good pals then?”

“Yeah. He does get mad at her sometimes, though,” Callum added thoughtfully. “If she can’t find us doing something wrong, then he’ll have a go at her.”

Once again, Finlay had already told Mr. Abney this. “And um, and what kind of things will he say to her then?”

Callum grew very cagey just then. “Is this going to get The Admiral in trouble?”

“That depends on if he did something to get himself in trouble,” Mr. Abney replied evenly. “Callum are you afraid that he’ll get cross with you if tell me?” Slowly, very slowly, Callum nodded.

“Anything you tell me,” Mr. Abney said conspiratorially, “Will remain strictly between us, unless you or your brothers or your cousins are in danger. Like I said before, sometimes mums and dads need help, and so do grandparents. I need to know what help they need so we can give it. So, can you please tell me what he says to her.”

Callum considered it. After a long pause he said, so low that Mr. Abney had to strain to hear it. “He says that she should have known what we were up to and that she’s an idiot for not realizing what was going on. He always calls her a stupid little cow when he’s angry with her, and says why would we want to spend time with a useless… it rhymes with ‘hunt’.” Callum bit his lower lip. “She says that we were avoiding her, and that’s when he says that. That no one likes her.”

Finlay hadn’t censored himself. He’d detailed to Mr. Abney some very colourful language that The Admiral directed at Meredith. He also said that he was careful not to do it when any of his children were around – Stuart apparently had no idea, though Finlay was sure that he’d do his nut if he found out. His tolerance of what his father said to his children probably wouldn’t extend that far.

“So, he sounds like he can be quite, um, he can be quite mean sometimes, am I right?” Callum nodded. “So, he didn’t let Rory eat any supper for a week, and he can get quite cross with all of his grandchildren, even Meredith. Does Meredith get upset?”

“She always starts crying,” Callum replied. “But then she tells Nell and Mae to eff off when they try to make her feel better.” Callum shrugged, _what can you do_ …

“Can I ask you what’s The Admiral like with Malcolm?”

“Calls him a Nancy boy all the time,” Callum started fiddling with his sleeves. “He was so angry when Malcolm was frightened to get on the boat. He made Uncle Stuart leave him alone on the dock.”

“Were there any other adults around when Malcolm was left alone?” He had been twelve, but still – water could be dangerous and unpredictable and Mr. Abney didn’t need a seafaring background to know that. Callum shook his head. “Was Malcolm there when you returned?”

“Yeah, he was just sitting there.”

Mr. Abney jotted that down in legal pad. “How often do you go over to your grandparents house?”

“They’re at ours when we come home from school,” Callum told him. “Granny normally makes dinner.”

“And do your cousins still come over on the weekends?”

“Not Meredith; she goes to Granny and The Admirals.”

“Every weekend?” A nod. “Do Malcolm and Madeline go with her?” A headshake. “Why not?”

“Because Madeline doesn’t want to, and Meredith doesn’t want them to and Malcolm wants to go with Madeline.”

“And what about Uncle Harold’s daughters?”

“They still come over; they don’t see Granny and The Admiral that much; Uncle Harold doesn’t like it.”

Mr. Abney didn’t get much more out of Callum, but everything he said matched up with what Finlay had told him: The Admiral got cross over everything, he needed to know what his grandchildren were doing at all times; he ripped up Malcolm’s artwork if he didn’t like it; he hurled abusive language at them – but only if he was on his own with them, or his wife was there. He used food restriction as a punishment quite often – it was his favourite. Mr. Abney glanced at Ms. Phelan.

She nodded – she had more than enough.


	7. Stuart

It was a happy seeming office: soft yellow walls enclosed a comfy but worn blue sofa against the wall next to the door, an oval coffee table and two matching armchairs opposite. Behind them, a standard pine desk that matched the coffee table stood in front of the window, bare except for a desktop and keyboard, and a blue coffee cup for pens next to a barely hanging-on spider plant. The only other personal touches were children's drawings, of varying skill, that were tacked up around the walls. The shelves were full of colourful toys and video games, that looked well-played with.

Blast it all.

The door opened, causing Stuart and Mary to turn sharply.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reed, so sorry to keep you waiting." Mr. Abney carried a thick file in his hand, which he set down on the coffee table before taking a seat in an armchair, barely making eye contact with them. Stuart did not like the look of that file at all. How could he have so much to write about them?

"This is?" Mr. Abney gestured to Neville.

"Neville Thornton," Neville Thornton replied primly with a nod. “We’ve met.”

"Indeed we have, apologies." Mr. Abney started fiddling with a recording device, before setting it down on the table. "Could I get any of you tea or coffee before we begin? No? Then I'll just start up this recording, then, if you don't mind." He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "The date is the second of December 2136, Richard Abney, social worker, of the Leicester Child Protective Services, conducting the first interview with Mr. Stuart Reed and Mrs. Mary Reed. Could you both state your names for the record?"

"Yes, um, Mary Reed." Her smile did not reach her eyes and her hands were clenched in her lap. Stuart resisted the urge to reach out and grab her hand. _It'll all be right_ , he'd told her earlier. _They're not going to take any of the children from us._ He'd been up since four with her, calming her when he hardly felt calm himself; But if he reached out and took her hand now, then that would be admitting there was something to be worried about, and that wouldn't do.

"Stuart Reed, lieutenant in His Majesty's Navy." Stuart's jaw was as clenched so hard he was worried he would crack his teeth. And he already felt so ill that speaking was hard enough.

Upon prompting, Neville Thornton stated his name, company and role as the Reed's solicitor. Satisfied, Mr. Abney continued.

"And you both understand that the purpose of this interview is to, is to…" he flicked through his file and Stuart cursed him for taking his time. Intimidation tactic, that's what it was. "To discuss allegations that your son Malcolm, date of birth the second of September 2123, currently thirteen years old, allegations that state that he is unsafe in the custody of you, his parents, and may possibly need to be removed from the family home?" Stuart didn't like the way he examined them over the tops of his glasses. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Mary had gone as white as a sheet.

"Understood," Stuart said, curtly. He tried to drape his right arm on the arm rest of the sofa, in a way that he hoped was nonchalant; he was a man confident that he would be taking his children home with him. All of them.

"And you have been made aware through correspondence the inciting incidence that prompted this investigation?"

"We have, and quite frankly we don't believe a word of it." Stuart uncrossed and crossed his legs again. He had to fight the urge to flatly tell Mr. Abney that he wasn't taking his boy away from him.

"Why is that, Mr. Reed?" Mr. Abney was politely curious, picking a sheaf of paper out of the file.

"Lieutenant."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's _lieutenant_."

"Apologies, lieutenant. But you were saying?"

"Just that Malcolm has always had a rather fanciful imagination."

"For example?"

"He was always making up stories when he was small," Mary offered, shifting forward. "Especially when he was playing with his sisters. And he likes to draw tall ships and come up with stories about battles with pirates. Quite the imagination."

Mr. Abney nodded. "And, in general, how would you describe Malcolm? Other than imaginative?"

"He's a little shy, but he's a good boy. We never had any trouble when he was smaller," Mary insisted.

"He does what he's told, when he's told," Stuart said, trying to school his features into a neutral expression. He knew he'd raised a good boy, if unfortunately also a clumsy one. He suddenly recollected the sheer amount of times Malcolm had fallen down the stairs, or out of a tree, or had gotten his hand caught in a door… The knot that had been forming in his stomach all morning intensified. It didn't look good, he had to admit to himself. But he'd be damned if he admitted that to either Mary or Abney.

"Would you say you're close?"

"Of course, but he's a very quiet boy," Mary explained. Whatever she was about to say next was cut off by her husband.

"He doesn't like to cause a fuss, but if he needed anything we would know." He spoke to him twice a week, for goodness sake, Malcolm would _tell him_ if something was that wrong. He was certain of it.

"The relationship my clients have with their son is of course a loving one." Mr. Thornton leaned forward. "I have here –" he took a PADD out of his briefcase. "Sworn affidavits from several of the Reed's friends and family members that can testify to that effect."

Mr. Abney took the PADD and spared it a glance before setting it down. Stuart glanced down at it as well, not liking them being discarded. "I will look over those later, they should be very helpful, thank you. But Lt. and Mrs. Reed, I have to ask you, you said that Malcolm liked to make up stories – has he ever made up anything like this before? Involving either yourselves, his sisters, or other family members?"

"No. Never." Stuart was resolute.

"Never? He has never complained about his sister being, say, a bit mean?"

"Only the usual squabbles siblings have," Mary insisted. "Nothing serious, at all."

"Can you give some examples?"

"Oh, you have children, you must know." Mary gestured at the drawings on the walls. Stuart knew she was being evasive; if he actually thought about it, Malcolm did argue with Meredith quite often when they were smaller, but they'd grown out of it; they got along famously now. He couldn't imagine how Malcolm could have ever gotten along at Oakham without his big sister to look after him.

Mr. Abney fixed his glasses, glancing around. "I do indeed, my sons couldn't pay a board game without arguing over it." He smiled fondly. Stuart wanted to punch him in his smug mouth. "However, those are done by children whose cases I've been assigned. I find drawing helps them relax a little, and open up."

"They are lovely," Mary said, turning on the charm. "You must have a difficult job."

"It can wear you down, I will grant you that. But there's nothing more rewarding than helping a family through a difficult time," Mr. Abney explained. "You see, my job is mainly to work with families to prevent separations unless absolutely necessary."

The hell it was. "Malcolm draws a little," Mary said.

"Yes, you said he likes to draw ships with pirates?"

Stuart glanced to one side. He had several of Malcolm's pictures hung up in quarters on the HMS _Clement_ , but they were all old – Malcolm point blank refused to show his parents his artwork anymore and Stuart, for the life of him, could never figure out why.

"He used to, never wants to show us what he draws now."

"He still draws those pirates," Stuart said in clipped tones. "Along with other 'fantasy' scenes."

"He shows you his pictures?"

"Occasionally, he keeps most of them hidden in his bedroom."

Mr. Abney nodded thoughtfully. "My own sons used to hide chocolate in the back of their wardrobe, my wife and I were constantly pulling out clothes only to find them covered in chocolate. Boys always have such creative hiding places. Do you know where in his bedroom he keeps them?"

"Under his mattress, not really that creative."

There was a pause before Mr. Abney responded. _Oh, blast it_. "How did you come across them?"

"I beg your pardon?" _Blast, blast, blast_.

"How did you come across his drawings?"

 _Searching your child's bedroom and invading his privacy, A* parenting, Stuart_. "When I was changing his sheets." His wife was staring at the table.

"Do you look at them often?"

"Occasionally."

"Talented?"

"A little."

"What kind of fantasy scenes does he draw?"

"Fairies, elves, aliens he thinks are out there, that sort of nonsense."

"Does he share his drawings with his sisters?"

"I don't think he does," Mary said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"Just to get back to my earlier question before we were sidetracked – has Malcolm ever complained about his sister being a bit mean to him?"

"Just the usual," Mary insisted. "Not wanting to share toys, you know."

"Just to be perfectly clear: Malcolm has never once said that his elder sister has hurt him, or anything to that effect?"

" _Definitely not_." Stuart began to grind his teeth, hoping Mr. Abney didn't notice. Malcolm had said, once or twice when he was younger, that Meredith might have hit him, or pushed him. But he also said that about his cousins, and Maddie, and they said the same about him. The adults tended not to get involved in the children's squabbles, believing it was character building to let them sort it out themselves. But Stuart had never like how all the rest of them seemed to gang up on his poor Meredith, especially Finlay, Nell, and Mae. So, he and Harold had an unspoken agreement to just not talk about it. Neither of them would dare broach the topic with Archie.

"I see." Mr. Abney cracked open his file and started rifling through it. As he extracted several stapled papers he said, "But the thing is, I have several statements from several of your extended family that contradicts you. They claim that Malcolm has often in the past said that Meredith has hurt him or threatened him. You can read them, if you'd like."

Stuart snapped the statements out of his hand, and he and his wife bent their heads over them, flicking through the sheaf. He was starting to feel lightheaded and needed to gather himself before answering. "Like we said, the boy is fanciful, and he likes to blame his sisters when things go awry: falling off his bike; if he forgets to take his medicine; if his medicine goes out of date; anything he misplaces somehow is his sisters' fault; never Malcolm's fault."

"Do you concur Mrs. Reed?"

It was her turn to hesitate. "Well, I wouldn't say he's lying to us, certainly –"

"But he never owns up to it." Stuart cut in again. "Wants us to just believe his version of events, the boy's always completely innocent." There were two things that bothered him about Malcolm – his inability to take responsibility; and his paranoia that everyone was out to get him. Most Wednesdays when Stuart spoke to him he would mention how none of his classmates liked him, and his teachers were out to get him. He recalled the last time they'd spoken, over a month ago.

" _It's not that they don't like you, son," Stuart told him gently over the video call. "It's just that you don't really talk to them, do you? No, you're terribly shy, just like your old Dad." Malcolm shrugged. He looked so upset that Stuart wished he could reach through the screen and give him a cuddle, but he quashed that feeling; he wasn't going to do Malcolm any favours by coddling him. "Buck up, just get out there talk to your peers. What have you got to lose?"_

"And we know for a fact that his sister would never do such a thing." Mary started to wring her hands as she bit her lower lip, looking earnestly at Mr. Abney. "I don't know why Malcolm is doing this."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Putting us through all this – if we could only talk to him, we could get this all straightened out. This is probably just a joke or a story that just went too far, and now he's too frightened to admit it." Her voice became thicker the longer she spoke. She didn't see the 'calm down' gestures Mr. Thornton was making, and shrugged off her husband's warning hand when he tried to grip hers. "I'm his mother, I'm sure I could convince him to tell the truth."

"And how would you do that? Convince him?"

 _Brilliant Mary, just brilliant_. Stuart doubted there was anything that she could have said that sounded more like a threat.

"Tell him what he's doing to this family," Mary said. "I'm sure he doesn't mean any harm. He just spend too much time in his own head, that's all."

"Actions have consequences, he has to understand that." Stuart was successful in gripping his wife's hand this time. "This isn't a joke, or a harmless game."

"Do you know what this says?" Mr. Abney held up another sheaf of paper he'd taken out of file. They shook their heads. "It says that on the tenth of November of this year Malcolm returned to his dormitory where his elder sister Meredith was waiting with her boyfriend, a Jasper Bardsley-Kemp, you're familiar with him, I presume." Prick of a Commodore's prick of a son. "So, the two of them were waiting, and once Malcolm arrived threatened to throw his two pet turtles into a bucket of bleach if he did not agree to drink a litre of milk. Could you please describe to me what would happen if Malcolm were to eat any dairy products?"

"He's allergic, he – he'd go into shock." Mary swallowed.

"So not a simple lactose intolerance, then?"

"No," Stuart said as evenly as possible.

"How allergic is he to dairy?"

"Very." Memories of rushing Malcolm to the emergency department came flooding back to him. Once it had happened when they'd been camping, and Stuart hadn't been able to find any of his Epi pens. The journey to the nearest town had taken years off of Stuart's life.

"So, obviously, Malcolm would require hospitalisation if he were to drink it, which is what happened –"

"No, it isn't."

"I beg your pardon, lieutenant?"

"Meredith did not threaten her brother. I don't know what induced that boy to do such a thing, but it was not Meredith. Like we already said, he can be prone to flights of fancy. This was just another cry for attention." There was an edge to his voice now, and Stuart knew it. But it was one thing to accuse him of not looking after his boy – it was another thing entirely to accuse his daughter of this lunacy.

"You don't believe Malcolm's version of events?"

"Of course not."

"But this isn't Malcolm's version of events."

"What?" That drew both of the Reed's up short. They glanced at each other before turning back to Mr. Abney.

"This," Stuart took the offered sheet and he and his wife looked over it. "Is a statement made to me by Malcolm's roommate. He was already in the room before Malcolm arrived, and Jasper wanted an audience. Both he and Meredith made the boy egg Malcolm on – he feels quite guilty over it." He gestured to the statement. "It's all there. How Malcolm drank the milk, became ill, and once Meredith and Jasper left, he took Malcolm to the infirmary."

"And what does Malcolm have to say about all this?" Stuart asked more harshly than he'd intended. He roughly handed the piece of paper back.

"Nothing at all," Mr. Abney explained, leaning back in his chair. "He's terrified. Won't open his mouth."

There was a very long pause. "Then who is making the accusations against our Meredith?" Stuart asked. He was starting to feel a bit hot underneath the collar. "A teacher?"

"Your brother, Archie."

" _What?_ " No, no, Archie would never… He wouldn't do this to him, to his family. He wouldn't…

"Apologies, I thought you were aware," Mr. Abney said smoothly. "You see, Malcolm's roommate, no I won't give you his name, told your nephew Callum what had happened. They are in the same year, aren't they, I have that right? Well, Callum went and told his older brother Finlay, and it was Finlay who told his father – your brother."

"He never said anything," Stuart said through teeth clenched so tightly that there was a real risk of fracturing a tooth. "I've spoken to him, he never said anything." He resisted the urge to turn on Mary. Had she known? She'd been in contact with Thornton for the last month, and he'd definitely been in contact with Abney. Neither had been allowed to speak to Malcolm at all.

"He filed a police report on the eleventh, after taking Malcolm home with him the day before. Were you aware that this office had granted him temporary custody on the basis of the interview he gave that day, and that of the ones your parents and sisters, Mrs. Reed, gave on the days after that?"

"We knew Archie was granted temporary custody, but we didn't know he was the instigator of all of this nonsense."

"He said that it wasn't the first time Meredith had tried to hurt Malcolm, and that you both were unwilling to even try and stop her from doing it again. It's all there in the documents I just gave you."

Mr. Thornton took them from Stuart and started to look over everything, his brow furrowed. Stuart thanked God that his hands weren't shaking when he did so. Archie had never said a word! But Corinne… she'd mentioned that she was worried that Malcolm was being bullied at Oakham, but Stuart had dismissed it. He knew that Malcolm was prone to exaggeration, and besides he had to learn how to deal with it himself; not everyone he met was going to like him. But Corinne, God rest that woman's soul, had believed him, and had insisted on taking Malcolm home with her on the weekends. Though Stuart had to admit, Malcolm's behaviour had seen a marked improvement in that he was getting his homework done on time and had stopped mouthing off to teachers.

"This is all absurd!" Stuart burst out, his resolve almost gone. "The audacity of you to accuse our daughter of this in the first place is outrageous! She's never laid a hand on him. And if this is all the evidence you have, hearsay, and the attention seeking stories of a child, we'll be taking our son back to school this afternoon."

"It isn't."

"What else could you possibly have?" Stuart asked, feeling as though a weight had dropped into stomach.

"Malcolm is also allergic to bromelain, is he not?" Mr. Abney started riffling through his files again. "And he's been hospitalized several times in the past for anaphylactic shock, also true?"

"It hasn't been that often." Mary shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps once or twice."

"It was six times in 2128," Mr. Abney said, looking in the file. "Five times in 2129, and another five in 2130, the last being in July of that year. For those three years, Malcolm was sent to the Emergency Department on average every two months. Which is quite a significant amount, wouldn't you agree?"

Yes, he would agree. But Malcolm hadn't been in hospital that often? Of course from the time he was four, Stuart was away for half the year but Mary would have told him. Wouldn't she?

"He was so young then, it was almost impossible to control what he was putting in his mouth," Mary said. "He was with other children, if they had treats, then they usually shared."

"Doesn't he take injections to be able to tolerate bromelain? Who normally administers those?"

Mary flushed. "I do," she said tersely. "It's on a prescription which we get from the pharmacy."

"And where is it stored?"

"In the fridge."

"And are you normally diligent about proper storage and administration?"

"Of course!"

"Then how do you explain those hospital visits?"

She went even redder, grabbing fistfuls of her skirt. "He must have eaten some dairy, he doesn't take anything for that."

"But his dairy allergy was only responsible for six of those visits. The hospital determined, and _documented_ ," he indicated the file again, "That the others were caused by ingesting bromelain."

"What does this have to do with Meredith?" Stuart snapped. _Oh, God, Mary_ … Stuart had never felt so blindsided. This was worse than the time she'd 'forgotten' to tell him Malcolm had broken his arm – that had been a lovely Christmas surprise.

"She started school here in Leicester when she was ten, correct? In September of 2130?"

"Yes."

"And came home to you in Malaysia every summer, Christmas, Easter?"

"Yes."

"You see, after that, the hospital visits follow a pattern: Christmas 2130, Easter '31, summer '31, summer '32, Christmas '32, summer and Christmas '33, and summer of '34 – only when Meredith is home for the holidays."

"That's quite a stretch, Mr. Abney." Mr. Thornton had been silent for quite a while. "Purely circumstantial, and by no means enough to separate a family."

"By themselves, probably not, no," Mr. Abney conceded. "But according to your mother, Mrs. Reed, Malcolm refuses to take any food from his sister. She's asked him about several times, and he admitted to her that he has seen Meredith doing something with his medication in the fridge. He's also said that she's given him things like cheese and yoghurt, similar to the incident with the turtles. She says that both her and your sister, Sherry, have mentioned it to you, but you dismissed them. Would that be true?"

"No, none of it," Mary lied. She was starting to feel slightly ill, and weak in the chest. "Meredith would never hurt Malcolm."

"But has your mother and sister brought up their concerns with you?"

"It was hardly a concern, more in passing," Stuart jumped in before his wife could keep digging that hole. "If we thought it was serious, we would have acted on it."

"Still conjecture." Mr. Thornton scoffed. "Mr. and Mrs. Campbell don't see their grandchildren as much as Lt. Reed's parents, there's bound to be some hard feelings there."

"Perhaps, but when I asked Malcolm about what his grandparents had told me, he concurred. Would you like me to go over what they have told me?"


	8. Ms. Sherry Campbell

Mr. Abney was wary of three things in his profession: Parents who were too quick to claim their children were their whole world; Neighbours who knew too much about their other neighbours but somehow only had a 'funny feeling' that something was wrong; and in-laws who spent more time bashing each other than discussing the charges.

He also did not appreciate having to reschedule a meeting twice, and then be kept waiting for twenty minutes when he could finally pin them down.

And he was also aware of three things with regard to Sherry Campbell: she was as stylish as her parents were not; she talked as much as her mother; and she did not like Stuart Reed. Her list of offenses included:

  1. Stuart never helped to clean up at family parties
  2. He thought the purpose of her dissertation was to just to 'stir up the past'
  3. He always asked her if she was 'warm enough in that' when they went anywhere
  4. He never stopped looking at his watch when they were together
  5. If he could get away with hiding in the next room, he would



In fact, Sherry couldn't really remember ever having a proper conversation with the man

"– with that sour puss on his face –"

"I take it then, that you don't, ugh, you don't get along?"

Ms. Campbell scoffed and said in accent less pronounced than her father's, but only just, "He donae make it very easy."

Mr. Abney then managed to steer the conversation back to Meredith and Malcolm, but Ms. Campbell didn't offer anything her parents hadn't already said the day before. Meredith was too rough, she broke her siblings' and cousins' toys, she was prone to tears if she wasn't getting her way – Ms. Campbell blamed Lt. Reed.

"The _Lieutenant_ never calls when he's out on the 'Oggin'." She rolled her eyes. "That's the sea. He only ever speaks 'Jackspeak' – Navy slang. Never know what that man is saying."

"How often is he away from the family?"

"Over half the year, thereabouts."

"And you said he never calls?"

Ms. Campbell picked up her now cold tea, cradling it in her hands. "Every time I phone Mary, I ask her how he's getting on, she says she hasnae heard from him in a couple of weeks."

"Is that not, um, would that not be normal for someone in the Navy?" She shrugged, noncommittal. "And how is he when he's with his children?"

"Badgers Malcolm like he's one of his crew, usually. Ever since he was a wean." She shrugged and ran a hand through her long, thick black hair. "Probably gets it from Gordon."

"Pardon me – Gordon?" Mr. Abney knew full well who Gordon was.

"Stuart's Da. Right bastard, that one."

"And do you know how often Stuart contacts his children?"

"Even less than he calls Mary, probably." Mr. Abney had phone records to the contrary, but didn't bother pointing it out.

"Does your sister share that view of her father in-law?"

Ms. Campbell made a face as though it should have been obvious to Mr. Abney. "Oh, aye. Can't stand any of the brothers, to be honest."

"Your sister doesn't get along with any of her in-laws?" Mr. Abney recalled Mr. and Mrs. Campbell saying the exact opposite just the other day.

Ms. Campbell started laughing. "She hates the lot!" She put her teacup with the now cold tea back down onto the table. "Don't get me wrong, she adores Stuart." She shrugged 'what can you do?'. "But she could do without the parents and brothers – Archie in particular."

Mr. Abney filed that away for later. "Can you think of any reason that your parents wouldn't be, be, um, aware of your sister's feelings towards her in-laws?"

"Because she donae tell them. Donae tell Georgina for that matter, either, so don't bother asking."

"Why would that be?"

"Because our parents can't stand the Reed side."

"And what is it about her in-laws that Mary doesn't like?"

"Parents are up themselves and Archie thinks the sun shines out of his own arse." She shrugged. "Harold's the only one Mary can stand. Corinne as well, she was very down to earth, the poor woman. Bit too American for my liking, though. Not to speak ill of the dead," Ms. Campbell added quickly. "But could be a bit emotional, you know. And very forward. Mary liked her well enough, but she's a bit too assertive for Mary to handle; she was always too shy – just think the opposite of our mother and you've got Mary."

"And did you know her well?"

Ms. Campbell huffed in annoyance. "Only chance I get to see the kids is when they're with Corinne… were with Corinne."

"What was your opinion of her?"

"Like I said, assertive and emotional, a typical American." She grinned coyly. "But unlike Mary, I could handle her. And Malcolm absolutely adored her."

"I am aware of that. But, Ms. Campbell, may I ask you about an incident that occurred about ten years ago when you were watching your nieces and nephews? Malcolm's elbow was dislocated."

"Oh, aye, Meredith pulled his arm."

"Could you tell me what you remember, if you, uh, if you wouldn't mind?"

Ms. Campbell glanced down at his notes. "Don't you have the statement, or record, or whatever it is?"

"I do, but I'd like your perspective."

She shrugged. "I was running them a bath – Malcolm and Madeleine had gotten themselves covered in paint – and I heard them arguing, which is not unusual." She looked off to the side, trying to remember. "Malcolm started screaming, so I ran into the sitting room and Malcolm was screaming his head off."

"And where was Meredith?"

"Standing over him, holding whatever they'd been arguing about."

Mr. Abney flicked through his notes. "And where was your younger sister?"

Ms. Campbell bit her lip. "She was watching The Wiggles with Maddy, I think. She wasnae with them, that's all I know."

That all lined up with the statement Mr. Abney had from the time of the incident; she was also able to add to some of the details he'd gotten from her parents, such as when they'd been at a park in Wales and Malcolm had gone into anaphylactic shock from the piece of mozzarella Meredith had given him when he'd been six, or when they'd visited Kennedy Park in Ireland when he was ten and Meredith had pushed him out of a tree – Mr. Reed had been right, Rory had been the one to witness it. Another time, Stuart was taking Meredith and Malcolm camping near St. Andrew's and had visited her first ("Painful conversation, but I got to see the kids") and she saw Meredith at her father's rucksack. Next thing she knew, Stuart was calling her from the hospital, saying that Malcolm had had an allergic reaction and he couldn't find his epi pens. Ms. Campbell had had a look, and sure enough, found them stuffed down the side of her sofa. Right where Meredith had been rifling through the rucksack the day before.

"This was August, before Malcolm started school," Ms. Campbell said at Mr. Abney's question. "Stuart normally brings them camping the last week of August and then meets Mary to drop them off at school."

Mr. Abney checked his notes: and there it was, the twenty-ninth of August 2134 – hospitalisation for four days due to anaphylactic shock. Cause: accidental ingestion of milk in tea. The father mixed up the labels, thinking he was pouring oat milk into his son's cup.

"Does Malcolm drink tea?"

Ms. Campbell started laughing. "Started when he was eight; uses oat milk instead of the real stuff. I think he's addicted to caffeine, to be honest."

"Oh, I know the feeling," Mr. Abney smiled. He turned serious then. "Ms. Campbell, do you find that, uh, is Meredith jealous of her younger siblings?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, only a little," she deadpanned. "That camping thing was the first time her da was taking Malcolm as well and not just her – and it was over her birthday as well. She was raging, I can tell you that."

"Do you remember what she was like?"

"Very quiet," she said thoughtfully. "Stuart kept telling her to cop on, and to cheer up. Malcolm was buzzing, though. It was his first time going camping before school started."

Mr. Abney jotted that down. "Is that normally her reaction to her siblings getting attention? Becoming very quiet, I mean?"

Ms. Campbell nodded. "Aye, until someone's crying, and it's normally Malcolm."

Mr. Abney turned thoughtful. "Do you know why she seems to target Malcolm over Madeleine?"

"Mary used to tell me that she was always complaining that Stuart loved Malcolm the most because he was the boy." She waved a hand 'what can you do?'.

"Do you agree with that assessment?"

She opened her mouth, but didn't say anything, thinking. "I suppose he's intent on Malcolm joining the Navy when he's older, and so is Gordon."

"Gordon is Stuart's father?"

"'The Admiral'," she scoffed. She took a sip of her tea, wincing when she realised it had gone cold. "Mary will have a few choice words to say about him, if you can get her alone."

"Can you give me, give me, uh, give me an example of what she says about him?"

Oh boy, could she. Mary didn't hold back, apparently, when she was telling her younger sister her feeling on her mother and father-in-law. Mr. Abney resolved to try and get her alone when she arrived in England, but she'd already refused to meet if her husband wasn't there. Ms. Campbell also told Mr. Abney that Gordon couldn't stand hearing the children playing, meaning Mary and Tessa, Harold's wife, had to go out of their way to keep their children quite. Corinne just flat out didn't put up with it.

"Mary was a wee bit jealous, to be honest," Ms. Campbell admitted. "When Corinne was there, she would stay with the kids and if Gordon said anything she'd just take her boys out of there and wouldnae let them come back until Archie had a word with his father. Had a few shouting matches with him apparently. I think they hadnae seen them in a while, to be honest."

"So Corinne would argue with Gordon?"

"And she'd win," Ms. Campbell grinned, but then turned sad. "She was reaching the end of her rope, I think."

"Would she have left Archie?"

"She was going to, aye."

"Did she tell you this?"

She nodded. "Last time I saw her, when I visited her and the kids over Hogmanay – they only go home for Christmas and are back in Leicester for the thirty first – she told me that she didn't know how much longer she could stay with him." A sour look crossed her face. "Archie was a bit difficult when it came to talking to Stuart about Malcolm and Meredith; he would never back her up. But she couldn't leave him yet."

"What was she waiting for?" Mr. Abney asked, curiously.

"She needed to make sure that she would get custody of Malcolm," Ms. Campbell told him. "She was making a case, I know that much, but Finlay told me he couldn't find it."

"She was documenting what Meredith was doing to him?"

"And she was recording phone calls and conversations with Archie, trying to prove that he was unfit to look after Malcolm – that no one on that side of the family would properly take care of him."

"Were you prepared to back her up?"

"Absolutely," Ms. Campbell insisted. "Harold might be all right, I know he and Tessa don't have much contact with his side of the family anymore."

"Archie told me the opposite."

"Yeah, well, Archie's wife just died – his brother is not going to ghost his calls, is he?"

Mr. Abney checked back over Mr. Reed's statement. "So, they're not close?"

She shook her head. "I wouldn't say so, at least not according to Corinne. She only spoke to them because she had the girls over every weekend."

Mr. Abney didn't know if he could believe Ms. Campbell; she had a good memory for detail, but she was pretty off in her estimation of Stuart; Mr. Abney would call him doting if a bit distant and oblivious, so he didn't know if he could trust what she was telling him about Archie. On the other hand, she was claiming that this was Corinne's opinion and from what he'd heard of her, she seemed very clued in. He'd make a note of it, and see what Harold himself and Theresa – Tessa – had to say later on in the week; they were flying in from Germany.

"Ms. Campbell, may I ask, since you knew that Corinne was making this case, can I ask why you didn't, um –"

"Why I never said anything?" Ms. Campbell cut across him defensively, her brow furrowed in annoyance. "Do you know how many ex-Navy and Navy families there are in Leicester?"

"That is something that confuses me," Mr. Abney said. Or rather, it _had_ confused him; when Finlay had mentioned that there were a lot of Old Jacks in Leicester, Mr. Abney had done some digging. According to a newspaper article from five years ago, twenty percent of the Leicester population had been employed by the Royal Navy at some point in the past and most of them were either retired or were currently employed by the police; a quick call to DCI Green had confirmed it – not many in his station house, but he knew plenty in others around the city. "I mean to say – what's the draw of Leicester?"

"Rutland Water," Ms. Campbell said as though it was obvious. It was a large artificial lake in Oakham, and one of the largest in Europe; Mr. Abney often brought his boys there himself, during the summer holidays. "It's about a ten minute cycle from the school. And the Navy is after shrinking – only half the size it was now, everyone's joining the UE Coastguard or that Starfleet." Starfleet was a pretty new organisation that had only been set up four years ago. Mr. Abney remembered the picture in the papers of Henry Archer's son graduating from Officer Candidate School about two years ago.

"But anyway, I know most of Gordon's family is from Leicester, and he's pretty influential – most of his ancestors were high ranking Navy men." She shook her head and rolled her eyes again. Mr. Abney was afraid that they were going to roll right out of her head. "Remember that when you talk with him. Anyway, the Navy is basically a family affair now and a lot of them have history in Leicester. Actually," she was struck by a sudden thought. "I think Meredith's boyfriend, that little creep, I think they have a great-great-great-great-grandfather in common, or something like that. Most of them are related, anyway. And it was Mary who told me that. If I went to the wrong person, it's game over."

The more Mr. Abney was hearing and reading about the Royal Navy, the more he was unnerved by it. But he managed to keep his feelings off his face as he continued to speak to Ms. Campbell. He asked her some more questions about Gordon; turns out he made fun of Malcolm for having allergies and a touch of asthma ("Fairly certain he's played keep away with his inhaler, I'm nearly certain"); apparently he didn't believe that Malcolm had a dairy allergy at first and had given him yoghurts and Cheesestrings when he was younger ("I think that was the only time Stuart ever stood up to him – it was at a barbeque for Mary's birthday); Meredith was probably his favourite, and he was the only granddaughter he would consider joining the Navy ("Still not keen on it – he's apparently disappointed that he has seven granddaughters but only four grandsons – Mary only told me that after she had too much wine; she did an impression of him an' all").

"How do you feel about him?" Mr. Abney asked, trying to match up some of the instances of Gordon giving Malcolm allergens that he'd blamed on Meredith; he'd have to have a word with DCI Green about this, the sooner the better.

"I think he's a right cunt," Ms. Campbell spat. "Archie's the only one of his sons who's not afraid of him. Stuart would never say boo to him, and I think Harold just stays out of his way."

"You said that Stuart became upset when his father gave Malcolm yoghurt?"

"The one and only time," she replied. "He lets him get away with anything else he wants to say to him, or about him. Malcolm's his easiest target."

"And why is that?" He knew; he just wanted her to say it.

"Because Corinne and Archie would stand up to him, and Harold avoids him to the best of his ability; and Meredith and Madeleine are girls so they just escape his notice most of the time – no pressure on them to be anything other than ladylike." She huffed. "You'd swear by his carry on that it's the nineteen fifties."

"Would you say he has certain expectations for Malcolm?" Mr. Abney asked her, cocking his head to the side.

Ms. Campbell uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, nodding. "He definitely does – Malcolm is nowhere near sporty enough or tough enough for him; he's such a wee thing, and he's so shy – he just wants to be left alone to read or draw, but no, they're not manly enough activities." She looked Mr. Abney up and down, appraisingly. She seemed to be trying to make up her mind.

"This is our only chance, you do get that?" she said insistently, leaning towards him. "If you go to the wrong judge, or get the wrong people involved, we're screwed, you do understand that?"

Oh, Mr. Abney understood alright. But he wasn't worried about the legalities or making a case, or having it thrown out by a Navy affiliated judge.

Not when he had Claire.


	9. The Other Lt. and Mrs. Reed

"Look, if we're being perfectly honest with you, we haven't had that much contact with my family for years."

Mr. Abney had only asked if they were aware of the allegations against their niece and some of her friends. Harold Reed greatly resembled his brother – same long nose, same brown eyes, same cheekbones; the main difference was the fact that he was dressed much better, as opposed to his brother's more ill-fitting clothes, and he'd had a recent haircut. He appeared fit, with a slightly squarer jaw, but his dark brown hair had far less grey than his brother's. And while Archie had been more restless, and had a kind of nervous energy, Harold had none of that vigor and while not quite at ease, appeared far more composed and collected. So far, Mr. Abney had to admit that he was overall quite a pleasant man.

"Archie told me you were all quite close." Mr. Abney topped up Mrs. Reed's tea. She smiled gratefully, though slightly uncomfortable. She was as pleasant as her husband, though Mr. Abney could tell she was holding back – she kept glancing apologetically at her husband before she spoke, but he largely seemed resigned to the things she was saying about his family. Mr. Abney had already explained that he was going to be asking some tough questions, and that he would understand if it became too difficult to discuss. Mr. Reed just told him to get on with it.

"Oh, we talk every week, to be sure," Mr. Reed said. "And I would say that I'm very close with Stuart. But I don't really let our girls around my parents if I can help it."

"Gordon can be quite strict," Mrs. Reed said. She was in her forties, her blond hair tied up in a neat twist. "He can be a bit too harsh sometimes; but during the summer is the only time the girls can see Stuart or Mary, and they should have some relationship with their grandparents as well, so we do make the effort to get together."

"And do you spend the entire summer together?"

"Harold is ashore June to August," Mrs. Reed informed him. "Same as Stuart; and Archie before he retired."

"A handy break, when the children are off school," Mr. Abney commented. "I would assume those months would be in demand."

A funny look came across Mr. Reed's face, but it was gone in a flash. "Yes, the three of us are very lucky. We've always gotten them off since Nell, Meredith, and Finlay were born."

"I'm certainly not complaining," Mrs. Reed volunteered, smiling.

"And do you spend much of the summer months with your in-laws?"

"Yes, we used to spend a good chunk of the summer in Leicester," she replied. "But we like to travel as well – we were with Mary and Stuart for the first two weeks in August, and we had a nice little family holiday, just ourselves, in July."

"Oh, how, uh, how lovely," Mr. Abney said, a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. "Where did you go?"

"We spent ten days in Morocco; Marrakesh."

"A nice city break?"

"It was, it was; though it was hard to keep Harriet entertained," Mr. Reed offered fondly. "Not too impressed with the architecture, but she did love the quad biking."

"Quad biking?"

"Oh, you can do it out in the desert," Mrs. Reed said helpfully. "All the girls loved it."

"Tessa had a go as well," Mr. Reed said, placing a hand on his wife's knee. "Not for me though, I don't like the bikes."

"Sea vehicles more your style?"

"Rightly so."

"Marrakesh is land locked, am I right in saying that?"

"It is, but we went on a charming little boat ride up to this waterfall – oh, what was called Harold?"

"Ooh… Ouzoud, I think it was," Mr. Reed replied, his brow furrowed. "Harriet kept running around, the tour guide was getting worried she was going to fall in."

"Your nephew told me that you were all raised on the water," Mr. Abney said.

"She can handle herself on a boat, to be sure," Mr. Reed said, a hint of pride in his voice. "All of our girls can; they could all handle a dinghy before they could ride a bicycle."

"And do any of the girls want to, want to follow you into the Navy? You're a lieutenant yourself, am I right?"

Mr. Reed nodded. "I am; Nell and Edith do have their hearts set on it."

"I'm sure you're pleased with that."

Mr. and Mrs. Reed exchanged a glance. "Not as pleased as you'd think," Mr. Reed admitted after a moment.

"It's a bit of a boys' club," Mrs. Reed told him. "We're not sure we like some – a lot – of the attitudes prevalent in the Navy."

"We're gently pushing them towards the Coast Guard, if we're being totally honest," Mr. Reed added, making a gentle shoving motion with his hands.

"What, uh, what would put you off having them join the Navy?"

"I've seen a lot of sexism," Mr. Reed said. "Some of the language would shock you, it really would; quite homophobic as well." He made a displeased face. "I try to stay out of it, there's not much to do if you hear it. It really is everywhere."

Mr. Abney read over some of his notes. It was for show; he'd memorised them. "I'm told that Malcolm is bullied quite a lot in school for being gay."

They exchanged another glance.

"We have heard that from the girls." Mrs. Reed bit her lip. "It's the main reason that Nell and Meredith don't get along."

"So, Nell would be protective over her younger sisters and cousins?"

"Rightly so," Mr. Reed insisted. "That girl knows responsibility, we made sure of that. All of our girls do; if they see Meredith, or that boyfriend of hers, having a go at Malcolm, they know to put a stop to it."

"May I ask, um, what you're aware of? Just to come back to my earlier question?"

"We do know about making Malcolm drink that milk," Mr. Reed said. "And the girls have complained to us about Meredith being a bully, but we've not been given the specifics."

"Could you possibly tell me what you have been told? Anything the girls have said, anything you've noticed about how the two interact, anything at all."

"When they were younger, everyone always complained that Meredith was pushing them, or breaking their things," Mrs. Reed offered. "And they always tried to avoid her – I normally told the girls to stop being so mean, I just felt so bad for her; she always looked so lonely. Malcolm was the only one she could ever get to play with her, not even Madeleine would."

"I think she told Madeleine to sod off, half the time," Mr. Reed interjected. "No, I'm almost sure of it – she wanted to play with Malcolm on her own."

"Actually, I think you might be right," Mrs. Reed agreed, her brow furrowed. "When we all got together it was normally Nell, Mae, and Finlay; Cora, Edith, Callum, and Madeleine; Harriet and Rory, he's nearly ten; and then Malcolm and Meredith would be off together."

"Did they enjoy playing together?"

"Malcolm normally came running over to Mary and Stuart, crying," Mrs. Reed said. "Meredith tended to be a bit rough when she was playing with him; she was a bit rough with all of them, to be honest."

"Rough how?" Nobody had yet to satisfactorily explain to him what they meant by 'rough'.

"When they were playing chase, she would end up accidentally pushing them when she caught them," Mr. Reed said. "I remember once, they were playing rounders, and after she hit the ball, she threw the bat behind her, and hit Finlay in the nose."

"Was that on purpose?"

"Oh, no, no," Mr. Reed said shaking his head, aghast. "We were watching, she just got a little bit excited."

"Your father though," Mrs. Reed said, so quietly that Mr. Abney doubted he was meant to hear her, pursing her lips. She glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye.

"What about him?" Mr. Abney asked.

Mrs. Reed seemed reluctant to continue. "He insisted that Finlay should have ducked, and he was more to blame than Meredith."

"Kept blathering on about needing 'quicker reflexes', and that he ought to toughen up if he wanted to join the service." Mr. Reed shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Which, to be honest, is why I don't really let my children around my father alone anymore."

"I'd like to get back to that later, if, if I may," Mr. Abney said, flicking through his notes. "Would you mind if we, if we were to, to speak a little more about Meredith and Malcolm?"

Mr. and Mrs. Reed nodded; turns out that Meredith was actually quite possessive of her brother – she didn't often let Callum play with him when they were smaller, and the only one who could really distract her from him was Madeleine. But even then, she could never distract her for very long. Mrs. Reed often forced Nell and Mae to play with her when they were younger, feeling so sorry for her when all of her cousins and younger sister were avoiding her and Malcolm couldn't play because he was sick. Though that normally ended in an argument, because Meredith was being too bossy, or took someone else's toy and wouldn't give it back, or God forbid, went running to their grandfather and told him what they were doing. When she was with Malcolm, he would just go along with whatever Meredith wanted to do, though they were concerned that she used to hit him far too hard if she wasn't getting her way or was cross with him for some reason.

"Malcolm's had a lot of hospital visits and injuries over the years, hasn't he?"

"He has, yes," Mr. Reed replied warily. "And I know you like Meredith for a lot of them."

"Do you disagree?"

"We've been speaking to the girls, Nell and Mae in particular," Mrs. Reed cut off her husband with a hand on his knee. "They claim that Meredith has one all sorts of things: pushed him down stairs, steal his food, spread rumours – that sort of thing."

"And did the girls tell you this only recently?" Mr. Abney asked.

"They used to tell on her when she hurt them when they were smaller, but not as much anymore," Mr. Reed said, taking his wife's hand on his knee. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "They haven't really said anything about Meredith in a while, to be honest with you. They honestly said nothing to us about any of this."

"May I ask if you heard about what happened in September?" They shook their heads. "Meredith and a few of her, of her, um, of her friends removed his clothes and tied Malcolm to the goalposts overnight."

Mr. Reed turned stony faced, while Mrs. Reed gaped at Mr. Abney in horror. "We heard no such thing!"

"It was confirmed by several different sources," Mr. Abney confirmed; after Finlay told him about it, Mr. Abney had DCI Green confront Dora – one of Meredith's friends – and she'd cracked in about twenty minutes; she ended up telling him all about how they'd cornered Malcolm after dinner one Sunday because Meredith was irritated over the large package Malcolm got from their parents for his birthday; they dragged him out to the east playing pitch, forced him to take off his clothes, and tied him up. Mr. Abney had seen the video recording – she'd started crying loud, ugly sobs, and seemed absolutely terrified. Mr. Abney had an interview with her scheduled for the following week, and was planning on questioning her on the long list Finlay had given him – not to mention whatever Nell and Mae was going to tell him in another hour. DCI Green had already spoken to Tim and William as well, and gotten much the same story, once they'd been told that Dora had confessed. Tim had also told DCI Green that he'd seen Meredith and Jasper heading to Malcolm's room that morning, carrying what looked like two litres of milk, bleach, and a bucket. Both Meredith and Jasper, however, had refused to speak to him without their parents present, and it didn't look like that was going to happen for another month – Lt. Reed was still at sea, and Commodore Bardsley-Kemp seemed to be taking his sweet time.

"The girls said nothing to us," Mr. Reed said evenly. "We heard nothing about it."

Mr. Abney went over some more of what Finlay and Callum had told him about what Meredith and her friends had done to Malcolm in school: holding him down in the fountain, not letting him eat, hiding his books and uniform, pushing him down the stairs, dislocating his shoulder, ripping up his drawings and paintings, and lastly, about the scar on his arm. They were appalled.

"We had no idea it was that bad," Mr. Reed insisted, still as calm as anything. "The girls don't get along, but that's about all we knew."

"Did Corinne ever mention anything to you?"

"Absolutely not!" Mrs. Reed said. "She never said a word."

"Were you aware that she was collecting evidence of the abuse Meredith was inflicting on Malcolm?"

"She said nothing." Mrs. Reed replied. "And we spoke every Monday, she had the girls over on the weekends."

"Can you think of why that would be?"

Mr. and Mrs. Reed glanced at each other. "She may have been concerned," Mr. Reed began slowly. "That I would have told Archie, or our father. If she really was, as you say, collecting evidence."

"And would you have?"

"I would not!" Mr. Reed displayed more emotion than he'd shown so far. "If I knew that Meredith was harming her brother to that extent, I would have said something about it; I would have confronted Stuart."

"Can I ask if you believe that it would be better if this was settled without my interference?"

"Do I think we should be keeping this in the family, and not be airing our dirty laundry about?" Mr. Reed was getting clearly irritated now, leaning forward in his seat. "Have you been speaking with my mother?"

He'd struck a nerve. "Not yet; I have an interview, with, with, with your parents next week." They'd been difficult to pin down, only agreeing to meet with their lawyer, a Mr. Thornton, present. "It was Callum that told me that."

"They've been helping Archie with the boys a lot more, since Corinne passed," Mr. Reed said, calming slightly, and leaning back in his chair. "I doubt the boys are too thrilled."

"You said a few moments ago that you, that you don't allow your parents around your children too often?"

"No, we don't." Mr. Reed busied himself by making some more tea for his wife; even though her cup was largely untouched.

"May I ask why that is?"

Mr. Reed huffed, and Mrs. Reed placed a hand gently on his shoulder. It was as though he was reminded to take a breath when he met her eye. "My father can be a rather demanding man."

Mr. Abney waited for him to elaborate. He didn't. "Can you give me an example?"

"He doesn't abide mistakes; he can be intolerant, impatient, demeaning –" Mr. Reed cut himself off, exhaling forcibly through his nose. "He and I don't really get along," he said simply, folding his arms in his lap.

Mr. Abney crossed his legs and clasped his hands over his knee. "I understand that this might be hard for you, Mr. Reed."

"Yes, you said that already."

Mr. Abney paused before speaking again. "What Finlay and Callum told me was rather concerning; to be honest, I'm, I'm inclined to believe that it's not new behaviour."

"Are you." Mr. Reed was wound tighter than a drum, and shook his wife's hand from his shoulder.

"Finlay told me your father often prevents them from eating if he'd displeased about the marks they get on their homework," Mr. Abney said softly. "And he's also incredibly strict on chores."

"Yes, he's quite fond of sending children to bed without any supper." He looked at Mrs. Reed out of the corner of his eye, allowing her to take his hand this time. He sighed, before looking back at Mr. Abney. "To be honest, I only speak to my parents every couple of months. Archie calls me every week, but it's only Stuart that I'm actually close to."

"You're not close to Archie? Is he close to your father?"

"They argue something fierce, but I know my father respects him a damn sight more than he does Stuart or myself. They're very alike – everything has to be 'ship-shape and Bristol fashion'."

"Can you describe him a little bit more for me?"

"He can be cruel sometimes," Mrs. Reed interjected. "Whenever the children were making noise – being children, in essence – he could never abide by it, he would demand that they be quiet and behave themselves."

"Nothing is ever good enough for him," Mr. Reed said. "And he's not afraid to let you know he's displeased."

"He's far too harsh with the children, in my opinion," Mrs. Reed told him. "Caroline is the same way."

"It's the main reason we don't allow the girls alone with them." Mr. Reed sighed. "They're… they're cruel, to be completely frank." He looked over at his wife for support, and she squeezed his hand and smiled encouragingly. "I remember… I remember him locking us in our rooms for a few days if we annoyed him; keeping us on bread and water for weeks was his favourite punishment."

He bent his head, and rubbed his forehead.

"I know how hard it can be to be bringing all of this up –"

"But it needs to be said." Mr. Reed looked up sharply. "Let me assure you Mr. Abney – my father is an emotional distant, verbally abusive man, who has a penchant for half starving children."

"Finlay told me he treats them as if they're in basic training?"

"Can you imagine being screamed at by a drill sergeant at the age of six?" Mr. Reed asked rhetorically. Mr. Abney shook his head. "I don't have to; and neither do my daughters."

"I can imagine that's very tough," Mr. Abney said, sympathetically. "You said that you avoid your parents if possible?" Mr. Reed nodded. "Would you mind if I ask, can I ask what prompted that decision?"

Mr. Reed shrugged. "It was everything, really. About five or six years ago, I saw him treating my daughters the way he treated myself and my brothers, and I just…" he sighed. "I just realised that I couldn't put them through what I went through – the control, the fear – I just couldn't expose them to it." He turned his head to look at his wife, and they smiled sweetly at each other. "We had a chat, and we made the decision."

Mr. Abney gave them a minute; Mr. Reed seemed to be getting pretty agitated over where the conversation had headed. Mr. Abney felt for him, and hated putting him through it, but he knew that this was a necessary evil. Once it seemed like Mr. Reed was ready to speak again, Mr. Abney turned the conversation to Stuart and Mary.

"Stuart does whatever our father tells him to," Mr. Reed said. "If he wants him to have a go at Malcolm, he'll have a go at Malcolm, but he's a completely different person when Dad's not around."

"In what way does your father 'have a go' at Malcolm?"

"He tells him he's wasting his time with his art; Stuart told both Archie and Dad that he wasn't letting Malcolm do it for GCSEs, but he only said that to shut them up. He loves Malcolm's paintings – he has them pinned up all over the house and his quarters on ship."

"And Stuart tells you this?" Mr. Abney asked, making a note.

"He tells me most things," Mr. Reed informed him. "He's too concerned about making our father happy – he goes along with whatever he says, he's terrified of him."

"Does Stuart ever disagree with your father?"

"No, never."

"Well, there was that one time," Mrs. Reed said. "It was years ago – Gordon kept giving Malcolm things he's allergic to, and Stuart lost the plot."

"Oh, yes, I remember that, but that was the only time I can think of. And that's another thing," Mr. Reed added. "He doesn't believe that Malcolm is as allergic as Stuart claims, thinks Mary's overreacting."

A knock at the door cut off Mr. Abney's next question. "Come in," he called.

Chris stuck his blond head through the crack in the door. "Sorry to interrupt, but Helen and Margaret Reed are waiting out here for their parents."

Mr. Abney thanked him and turned back to Mr. and Mrs. Reed. "Could I ask you to think of some more examples of your father's behaviour that, that, you considered when making the decision to limit his contact with your daughters? I will need to conduct several interview with your family, if that's alright with you."

They told him that they would, and he asked them to set up an appointment with Chris for just before Christmas. Mr. Abney got up, and gestured to the door. Mr. and Mrs. Reed followed suit, and Mr. Abney called Helen and Margaret in.


	10. Helen and Margaret Reed

"Can I get you girls tea, or hot chocolate maybe?"

Helen and Margaret Reed glanced at each other from where they were seated on the sofa. They were dressed in their school uniforms, a checked black, white, and grey skirt that came below the knee, a white shirt that they had unbuttoned at the top, and they were wearing a black jumper and blazer respectively. They could have been identical twins, with only eleven months between them, their fine, brown hair cut to their shoulders, the same light blue eyes, the same flat cheekbones, the same heart shaped faces. The only difference was that Helen's longish nose was crooked as though it had been broken at some point. And from the lacrosse stick she'd been carrying when she came into the reception, Mr. Abney strongly suspected that was what happened. She also had a couple of grass stains on her knees above her socks, and Mr. Abney noticed that she was wearing blue trainers instead of her sisters black school shoes.

"Could we have some tea, please?" Helen asked softly.

Mr. Abney asked Chris to prepare them some tea, nodding at the girls' parents as they waited outside in the reception area. They appeared tense, barely able to smile in return, but they were putting on a good show for their eight year old daughter, Harriet, who had spent the last hour in the company of two of Mr. Abney's colleagues. They'd stopped speaking as soon as Mr. Abney opened the door, and he vaguely wondered if they regretted what they'd said to him. Mr. Abney noted Nell's lacrosse gear on the chair beside Mrs. Reed.

"Do you go by Helen or Nell?" Mr. Abney asker her, as he sat back down picking up his yellow legal pad.

"Nell," she replied, crossing her legs. She had her head in her hand as she leant on the arm of the sofa, playing with her ear.

"And it's Mae, isn't it?" She only nodded. Her arms and legs were tightly crossed, and she kept glancing around the room. They'd only agreed to be interviewed as long as it could be done together; Mr. Abney would have rathered to get them separately, but he was going to take what he could get. They'd come straight from school, Nell's lacrosse training ending at five, and barely had a moment with their parents before Mr. Abney called them into his office. His recording equipment was already set up.

"Could I get you girls to give your full names and dates of birth, for my records?"

"Helen Reed, third of October 2119."

"Margaret Reed, nineteenth of August 2120."

Nell's voice was a little bit stronger than her sister's, but they both clearly anxious about being here. From what Finlay had told him, Mr. Abney would have expected them to be a little bit more enthusiastic about speaking to him – they were as fed up with Meredith as Finlay was, according to him.

"The date is the seventeenth of November 2136, Richard Abney, social worker, of the Leicester Child Protective Services, conducting the first interview with Helen and Margaret Reed." He smiled kindly at them, trying to put them at ease. "I noticed your kit outside - are you on your school's team?"

Nell nodded. "We have the last match of the year next Saturday. We had a friendly with Rushey, I came straight from there."

"A match? I beg your pardon, I thought you had training." Nell shook her head. "And are you on the team as well?" he asked Mae. He could have sworn their parents said she had training, but it was possible that they misheard.

"No, I went along as a supporter," she said, taking a deep breath to steady herself once she answered.

Mr. Abney smiled kindly. "I'm fond of rugby, myself. Have you played lacrosse long?"

"Since year six."

"And do you play any sport?" Mr. Abney asked Mae. "I think your parents mentioned that you’re a Cadet Corporal in the Combined Cadet Force?" Mae nodded, but didn't say anything else. Mr. Abney chatted with them for a few more minutes, trying to put them at ease; Finlay had just started talking as soon as he came in, though Callum had not relaxed at all. Malcolm kept going hot and cold, depending on what Mr. Abney brought up, but had been all in all very shy and quiet. Granted, he had seemed more comfortable with him during the second interview; Mr. Abney was going to need to schedule more interviews with the boys over the coming weeks and he made a mental note to get Chris on it as soon as he could.

He glanced down at his recorder on the table. "So, I don't know if you've been speaking with your cousins over the last week and a half, but what we need to speak about is not an easy topic." He'd said as much to Finlay. But where it had seemed to spur him on, it made the girls exchange a nervous look between them. "And if you'd like to stop at any point, or have our Legal Aide brought in, we can do that. Now, first thing's first – are you aware of why I'm conducting these interviews with your family?"

The girls exchanged another glance. "You want to take Malcolm into care," Nell said after a beat. "Because of what Meredith's doing to him."

"Well," Mr. Abney said, shifting in his chair. "I am concerned with how, with how Meredith is _treating,_ her, um, her younger brother, but I won't be placing Malcolm with a foster family if I can help it."

"Well you should," Mae blurted out.

"And why's that?"

She looked down to the side for a moment. "Meredith is horrible to him; and their parents don't do anything about it."

"And what do you think their parents need to do?"

"Stop her hurting him!" Mae said. "She pushes him down all the time, there was what she did to his arm, she keeps hiding his inhaler, Edith told me –"

"She told everyone he keeps stealing her dresses and knickers," Nell added.

"Yeah, she told everyone he wears them around the house –"

"And wants to be called 'Matilda' –"

"Why 'Matilda'?" Mae turned to her sister, confused and annoyed by the thought. Nell just shrugged in response. "But it's dangerous in our school anyway, no one would dare admit they're trans."

"So," Mr. Abney held up a hand to stop the flood now coming from the girls. "Meredith spreads rumours about Malcolm?" They nodded. "And is Meredith _aware_ of how dangerous those rumours are to Malcolm?" They nodded. "What else has she said about him?"

"She made an email address," Mae said. "malcolm.gordon.reed. At gmail."

"Why?" Mr. Abney queried, taking it down; Claire might be able to get access to it.

"She sent a load of emails to boys in his class – love letters," Nell told him.

"And when was this?"

"April."

"And what was the reaction to the 'love letters' like?"

Mae's mouth was set in a hard line. "They weren't happy."

"Like, at all," Nell added. "A few of them knocked him about over it."

Mr. Abney looked over his notes; there, in April and May, several trips to the school infirmary for fighting. "Do you know if any of the teachers got involved?" They shook their heads. "Do they ever?"

"Jasper's aunt is the headmistress," Nell explained sourly. "He gets to do whatever he wants."

"Do you think she knows the extent of what Jasper and Meredith are doing to Malcolm?" Mae just shrugged.

"The teachers are afraid of her," Nell explained. "She definitely knows what he's up to – she covers for him all the time. Finlay told us she erased CCTV of Jasper beating Malcolm up."

"And how does Finlay know that?"

"His mum tried to get the footage of Meredith and Jasper beating him up last December." Nell scowled. "Ms. Bardsley-Kemp said it had been erased. Likely."

"Do you know if your Aunt Corinne ever complained directly to the school?"

"Finlay said she did," Nell said.

"But I don't think the Head did anything about it," Mae finished.

"Can, um, can you think of any reason that Jasper's aunt would be so willing to cover for him?" Mr. Abney asked them. "For example, do you know if she tries to stop him in anyway?"

The girls exchanged a glance, but didn't say anything. Nell glanced at Mae one more time, before apparently deciding that she wasn't going to say anything, and continued, "Dad says sometimes that the Admiral calls Malcolm a 'Nancy Boy' to his old friends when Uncle Stuart's not about."

"And a poof," Mae added. "Calls him his 'poofter of a grandson'."

Mr. Abney made no visible reaction to that information, just wrote it down, and made a note to bring it up with Stuart and Mary when he eventually saw them. "And, and, and your Dad told you this?"

"Not exactly…" Mae said slowly, shifting awkwardly. "We overheard Mum and Dad talking a few months ago, and then we asked Finlay and _he_ said that he's heard _his_ Dad and the Admiral talking about Malcolm like that, and Meredith is always bullying him for being gay –"

"Even though he's not –" Nell interjected.

"Well, he says he likes girls," Mae continued.

"He's only thirteen though –"

"Yeah, he's young –"

"But _we_ certainly don't give a toss –"

"And neither would Mum and Dad –"

"Mum's best friends in Germany are gay –"

"So," Mr. Abney cut off the onslaught. "So, you believe that your grandfather believes that Malcolm is gay and that affects how he treats him? Am I right in saying that?"

"Absolutely," they said in unison.

"And what does that, does that have to do with the Headmistress?"

"Because if Admiral Gordon Reed wants his Nancy grandson toughened up and taught a lesson, then no one is going to interfere in that," Nell explained, busying herself with her tea. She took a sip. "And Jasper's father was our grandfather's aide before he retired, it's how we know that family so well. Commodore Bardsley-Kemp and his sister are as awful as the Admiral." She made a disgusted face. "We used to have to play with Jasper and his horrid brother during the summer. Dad hates him."

"And Jasper's definitely overheard them talking about Malcolm, there's no way he hasn't," Mae added, picking up her own tea, and cupping it in her hands. "He's said things to us that he couldn't know otherwise. They don't care what's done to Malcolm, because as far as they're concerned he's a homo who needs to be knocked straight and it's all approved by the Admiral."

"Do you have any examples?" Mr. Abney asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Of the Admiral allowing Malcolm to come to harm, I mean?"

"About two years ago, Jasper was wrestling with Malcolm," Nell said. "He jumped him because he was drawing some butterflies."

"Where was this?"

"Granny's house, here in Leicester," Nell answered. She took another sip of her tea, causing Mae to jump in.

"The Admiral didn't like that he was drawing something so girly," she told Mr. Abney. "But he was just copying some pictures from the insect house at the zoo, we'd been the day before with school. But Jasper heard him, and started ripping up Malcolm's pictures and when Malcolm tried to stop him, he pushed him to the ground."

Mr. Abney recorded that on his legal pad. "And how did the Admiral react?"

"He laughed and told Malcolm to fight back and not be such a pansy." Mae scowled. Mr. Abney noticed that she and her sister had identical scowls.

"Can I ask if your parents were there?"

They weren't; it was just Malcolm, Meredith, and Jasper. Nell and Mae had gone along as well, seeing as it had been a while since they'd seen their grandparents – but they were quickly reminded why that was. In the end they were happy that they'd stopped Cora and Edith from coming as well. Nell had been messaging Finlay in the group chat, and within thirty minutes Aunt Corinne had turned up, bundled Malcolm into her car and left; she'd barely said a word to her in-laws. Nell and Mae had quickly followed her out and stayed the night at her house; things had been frosty the next morning when they met their grandparents at mass. It was the one thing their parents really insisted on – going to mass every Sunday with their cousins.

The Admiral was also fond of boxing Malcolm's ears if he caught him behaving in a manner he didn't approve – speaking too quietly, reading those ridiculous Jaqueline Wilson novels, watching cartoons he was too old for, not wanting to go run around outside because he was having an asthma attack, and then there was what happened last summer on the dock in Plymouth; when Malcolm was too afraid the get on the boat.

"I thought he was going to throw Malcolm in," Nell said. "He was crying and everything!"

"Is this when Malcolm was left on the dock all day?" Mr. Abney scanned his notes, checking what Finlay and Callum had told him about that incident. The girls nodded. "Who made the decision to leave him there?"

"The Admiral," Nell told him, sounding cross. "Uncle Stuart took him off to the side, to try and calm him down, but the Admiral started yelling at him, saying that this was because he was a piss poor father, and was raising a little bender and it was all his fault."

"He's called him a window licker a couple of times, as well," Mae added. "Because he doesn't talk much anymore, so Malcolm often just stands there and stares at the ground, not saying anything."

"And won't make a move unless Meredith says he can."

"He's terrified of her."

"But he says he's not."

"No, he says he likes the attention."

"Could we get back to the Admiral for a moment, if, if you wouldn't mind?" Mr. Abney interrupted. "I'd like to get back to your cousin in a moment, but I just want to, to focus on, um, your grandfather for the moment. Does he often use offensive language when speaking with Malcolm, or referring to him? Or any of your cousins?"

"He told me that everyone would think I was a dyke if I joined the Navy," Nell harrumphed. "Said the same to Cora."

"And do you still want to join the Navy?"

"I do," Nell insisted. "Most of our family's in it; our family can trace serving in the Royal Navy back to the sixteen hundreds. The Admiral's brother actually died in service saving his crewmates from a mine that hit their submarine; it's our family's legacy and I want to uphold that and make Great-uncle Harvey proud."

"That's very, uh, very honourable, very honourable indeed." Mr. Abney smiled kindly. "Quite the legacy and history you have there." Nell seemed pleased at that, ducking her head and drinking more of her tea.

They spoke a little more about some of the ways the Admiral treated his grandchildren, but Mr. Abney didn't really get any new information - he was sarcastic, demeaning, used offensive language, wouldn't allow them to eat, or just give them plain bread, wouldn't allow any discussion, and sometimes gave them 'fitness tests' to prove that the girls could never survive in the Navy. Nell always did better than her cousins; Malcolm was normally given an asthma attack – and sometimes the Admiral wouldn't give him his inhaler. Nell and Mae hated him as much as Finlay and Callum did.

"And how does he treat Meredith?"

"Like his little minion," Mae muttered. "He has her spy on us, even at school, and then gives her stink if she can't get any good dirt on us."

"And she makes fun of her and Madeleine for having another sister," Nell added. "Meredith is his favourite, she gets away with murder, but the thing is, he does turn on her every now and again."

"She has to be perfect – perfect marks in school, never complain, always know what _we're_ doing," Mae continued. "She's on the tennis team, and the sailing team, and you should hear him when she doesn't do well."

Mr. Abney frowned. "And what kinds of things does he say to her?"

"Calls her a useless cunt, and says she needs to do better."

"And she's a shame and waste of space on the team."

"And a stupid cow who couldn't hit the wide side of a cruise liner with a tennis ball."

"May I ask when the last time you heard this was? Your, um, your parents say that you don't spend much time with your father's side of the family," Mr. Abney asked.

"We see them over the summer," Nell clarified. "And since Aunt Corinne died they've been at Uncle Archie's house all the time to help out, so we always see them on weekends now." She glanced at her sister again, and then said quietly, "Dad's not really happy about that."

"Your Dad doesn't want you spending much time with, with them nowadays?"

They were silent for a long moment, before Nell spoke again, Mae casting a nervous look her way as though she wished she could stop her. "Dad's afraid of him; and Mum hates him. But we can't just not go - Finlay relys on us."

"Why do you think that? That you parents aren't fond of your father's parents?"

"Because he never really speaks when he's around the Admiral," Nell said, looking at the door, where her parents were waiting on the other side. "And he just agrees with whatever he says when he does, even if he says something completely different at home. From weird stuff he and Uncle Stuart have said, it sounds like the Admiral did all that to them as well when they were young."

Mr. Abney took all of this down – the examples the girls gave him, their impressions of how their father and uncles behaved around their grandfather, and then what they thought of their grandmother; she sounded as charming as her husband. Mr. Abney didn't get anything new from either of them, but they did confirm a lot of what he'd already been told by Finlay and Callum, and what DCI Green had gotten from Meredith's friends in school. He also got the information that Meredith and Jasper were being avoided by most of their year and were trying to keep to themselves since this all started – the Commodore was thinking about pulling Jasper and his brother out of school, if the rumours were anything to go by. And the Admiral had apparently had a very strong word with Finlay and Callum last night about talking to Mr. Abney, though Finlay assured the girls that he'd lied about what he'd said and had made sure Callum did as well. Their parents had forbidden all of their daughters from going anywhere near their grandparents as soon as they gotten the call from Mr. Abney to arrange a meeting.

Mr. Abney was going to have to speak with Claire as soon as possible – he was going to have to get her to fast track that barring order.


	11. Ms. Phelan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wash your damn hands, these keyboards are filthy

Claire Phelan

Office of Children’s Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

18.11.36

District Judge Q. Pennington,

Leicester Crown Court

90 Wellington St.

Leicester LE1 6HG

Dear District Judge,

This is a formal request for a temporary protection order be put in place to prevent a Mr. Gordon Reed, retired Admiral of His Majesty’s Navy, from accessing his grandchildren (Finlay Danvers-Reed, Callum Danvers-Reed, Rory Danvers-Reed, Meredith Reed, Malcolm Reed, and Madeline Reed) unsupervised. Beginning on the eleventh of this month Mr. Richard Abney, of LCPS, has conducted several interviews with Mr. Reed’s grandsons and two of his granddaughters (Helen and Margaret Reed, eldest daughters of his Adm. Reed’s youngest son, Harold Reed), and has become concerned with Mr. Reed’s behaviour towards his grandchildren, believing it to be verbally abusive and neglectful. After consulting with other colleagues at LCPS, Mr. Abney believes that the immediate danger to the emotional and physical well-being of the children in question warrant restrictions being placed on their grandfather’s access to said children.

Miss Meredith Reed has previously been barred from associating with her younger brother due to the physical and mental abuse it is believed that she is inflicting on him, a Master Malcolm Reed. The request has already been granted by your office, and I make note of it as it is the opinion of Mr. Abney, as well as the psychologist attached to our office, Dr. Mhasalkar, that Miss Reed’s behaviour is the direct result of her Grandfather’s treatment of her.

Please find attached a summary of Mr. Abney’s report on the Reed family, as well as the application form for said order. DCI F. Green, of the Mansfield House Police Station, is currently conducting a criminal investigation into the actions of Adm. Reed and Miss Reed, irrespective of each other. My colleague at LCPS is to conduct several more interviews with the family and gentleman in question prior to the hearing taking place at the end of the period outlined, so as to determine if it will be necessary to upgrade the protection order to a barring order. It may be requested that the barring order be extended until the Inspector’s investigation has been concluded.

Mr. Abney has also drawn up a detailed family intervention plan, which this office will request be ratified and enforced, depending on the outcome of future meetings.

Kind regards,

Claire Phelan, Esq.

* * *

District Judge Q. Pennington,

Leicester Crown Court

90 Wellington St.

Leicester LE1 6HG

20.11.36

Claire Phelan

Office of Children’s Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

Dear Ms. Phelan,

After carefully reading the aforementioned report from your colleague, Mr. Abney, this office has elected to grant your request. The protection order has been issued to the gentleman in question, and will be in place for a period of thirty days – from the twentieth of November 2136, until the twentieth of December, 2136. A hearing to determine the necessity of upgrading the protection order to a barring order for a further period of six months will take place on the twentieth of next month.

I request that your office keeps the court apprised of the results of the investigations being undertaken, a similar request has been extended to the office of DCI Green.

Kind regards,

Quintin Pennington

* * *

Neville Thornton

Shakespeare Martineau LLP

2 Colton Square

Leicester LE1 1QH

England

20.11.36

Claire Phelan

Office of Children’s Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

Dear Ms. Phelan,

My name is Neville Thornton, I represent the interests of the Reed family, and I understand that your office has opened an investigation into one of my clients, Adm. Gordon Reed. My dear lady, let me assure you that these allegations are absurd and a complete fabrication. In the instance that you’re not aware, your office is obliged to disclose any and all materials related to the complaint against the good gentleman in question.

As such, I have received all materials from the office of the Judge Pennington. I think in the interest of fairness, I should disclose this to you as I fear that you may not be aware of the extent of the information that myself and my client is entitled to receive in this instance. I have thoroughly reviewed the reports your Mr. Abney has compiled, and I must say that it seems to me that the boy in question is either being led by your esteemed colleague, or has fabricated the entire story for attention, which, from what I hear from his family members would not be out of the ordinary. He is a fanciful child, not to mention troubled, as his school records will show. He has been reprimanded for tardiness, not handing in his work, talking back to his teachers, and fighting with his peers, in contrast to his sister Meredith, who is a model pupil. it may also interest you to read the boy’s file from the school counsellor, which goes into some detail about his state of mind. I do suggest you read it, in order to form a full and complete opinion of the boy.

May I suggest, my dear, that you rescind this unnecessary restriction on Adm. Reed from ever seeing his grandchildren again – he is nothing by a doting and affectionate grandfather, who only enriches the lives of his grandchildren by being in them. I implore to your better reason to remove the order before you do more damage to these children than you have already done by preventing them from seeing a most beloved grandparent, and even worse, doing more damage by extending the order to include Mrs. Reed, an excellent woman who is deeply hurt and confused by your tearing her family apart.

I appeal to your common sense, my dear,

Kind regards,

Neville Thornton, Esq.

* * *

Claire Phelan

Office of Children’s Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

21.11.36

Neville Thornton

Shakespeare Martineau LLP

2 Colton Square

Leicester LE1 1QH

England

Dear Mr. Thornton,

As I’m sure you’re aware, protection orders are temporary restrictions placed on individuals to prevent access to vulnerable people, children for example. I’m sure you’re also aware that they must be reviewed within the thirty day window and a decision made to upgrade the order, or to remove restrictions. It cannot be removed until this date, unless overwhelming evidence is presented that proves it unnecessary. Obviously, this tends to take place at the hearing, which has been scheduled for Thursday, twentieth of December 2136. I trust you have the details as to hearing’s time and location. I assure you that the family in question will not be put under anymore strain than is strictly necessary, and as I’ve said already, the restriction is temporary. Unless, of course, it is deemed prudent to impose further those restrictions that you seem to believe are already imposed.

If you believe you have ample evidence to persuade the judge to remove the PO I would encourage you to arrange a meeting and present it to him. Though, I must warn you, as this office requested the PO I am legally required to be present in chambers when you do. But I’m sure a man of your expertise was aware of that. Once all interviews have been conducted, and my colleague has had time to compile his finished report you will have the necessary information to mount your defense.

Looking forward to seeing you on the twentieth,

Kind regards,

Claire Phelan Esq.

* * *

Neville Thornton

Shakespeare Martineau LLP

2 Colton Square

Leicester LE1 1QH

England

22.11.26

Claire Phelan

Office of Children’s Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

Dear Ms. Phelan,

I am, in fact, astounded that your office would consider pressing forward with this case when all your office has in evidence is hearsay and conjecture. Unless, of course, there is more to these reports than you have allowed me to see. If this is indeed the case, and I must admit, I found your colleague’s report shockingly lacking in detail so it would not surprise me, then I must insist on being allowed to view all of the information your office has, to create a complete picture of the allegations against my excellent client.

But this entire story is pure conjecture madam. Pure conjecture! If what you have sent me is all your office has, then let me give you some advice my dear – rescind the application. I am aware that it is normally either extended or ended at the hearing, but I feel I should make you aware that it is within the powers of your office to do this, and not only is it within your powers, it is most advisable in order to save yourself the unnecessary headache and embarrassment that pressing forward with this case will bring onto you.

My dear, take my advice,

Regards,

Neville Thornton Esq.

* * *

Claire Phelan

Office of Children’s Social Care

Leicester Child Protective Services

91 Halford House

Leicester LE1 1HL

England

23.11.36

Neville Thornton

Shakespeare Martineau LLP

2 Colton Square

Leicester LE1 1QH

England

Dear Mr. Thornton,

Thank you for your sage advice, I will take it onboard. Please allow me to assure you that my colleague’s report is as complete as can be, given the sensitive nature of the case. If you require more information, then I suggest that you appeal to the Judge who shall be presiding over the hearing on the twentieth of next month. He has read the report in full, and has redacted what he deemed necessary in order to protect the children in question. I trust you have his contact information.

He may, I regret to inform you, deny your request for more information, but you are of course entitled to appeal this decision and seek judgement from another justice in the District Court.

If I have any further information to send to you, please be assured I will, but at present I do not. Your office has been provided with all the details necessary for you to mount your defense and I suggest that this is what you focus on.

Looking forward to meeting you at the hearing, don’t forget it’s on the twentieth of next month,

Kind regards,

Claire Phelan Esq.


	12. Cmdr. Reed

The sound of raised voices in the lobby caused Mr. Abney to look up sharply from the email he was writing to the director of the local anger management group. He could just make out Chris's steady voice being cut across by someone much, much angrier. he sighed; he'd been expecting this all morning. Claire had filed for a protection order the day before yesterday, and they'd been told earlier that it had been granted. When he'd called Archie Reed that morning to inform him, he'd just insisted that he had to be joking, and when he realised that he wasn't, called Mr. Abney a half-wit, and any judge who agreed with him worse than a fool, and then angrily hung up. Mr. Abney had just slowly stood from behind his desk, when the door bust open and Archie Reed stormed in, a hard set to his jaw and his nostrils flared. Chris could be seen anxiously over his shoulder, hurrying after him.

"You have some nerve," Archie spat, as he came to an abrupt halt in front of Mr. Abney's desk, waving his finger in Mr. Abney's direction. "Some fucking nerve."

"Mr. Reed –"

"How dare you drag my parents into this shit show," he continued, ignoring both Mr. Abney and Chris's attempts to calm him down. Mr. Abney gestured to Chris that it was okay to leave, who hesitantly backed out of the room and closed the door and cast one, last, worried look at Archie's back – he was probably going to get Claire and Yvonne, another social worker and whom had been assigned to audit the case. Hopefully quickly.

"Have you spoken to them yet?" Mr. Abney asked quietly, moving deliberately slowly around his desk, to sit in one of the armchairs by the door.

"This morning," Archie replied through gritted teeth, running a hand over his jaw, not accepting Mr. Abney's offer to take a seat. "Mum was beside herself, do you have any idea what this is doing to them?" He paced between the door and the desk, huffing through his nose. "Why do you ask, don't have the bollocks to tell them yourself?"

That was beside the point; once the order had been approved, a member of the courts would deliver it to Adm. Reed and explain the terms to him – and what would happen if he broke them. Mr. Abney had only told Archie as a courtesy – and to gauge his reaction. So far he wasn't impressed.

"I apologise, Mr. Reed –"

" _Commander_." He didn't look at Mr. Abney, just kept up his pacing.

"Beg your pardon – Commander." Mr. Abney's tone was even and measured. "I apologise again for having to tell you this, I know that it is an unpleasant, um, circumstance –"

"Too fucking right," he snapped, whirling around suddenly, gesturing angrily with his hands. "You're talking about locking my father up! _Unpleasant_ , my arse!"

"Some concerns have come up while I was interviewing members of your family –"

"This is meant to be about Meredith!" Cmdr. Reed took a few stomping strides towards where Mr. Abney was composedly sitting. "That little psycho cunt is the one you need to lock up!"

"That investigation is still ongoing," Mr. Abney calmly replied. "But your father's behaviour is under scrutiny now as well, and _is_ forming a part of it."

"What the fuck could they have said that made you think my father is a danger?" Cmdr. Reed asked incredulously, his nostrils flaring. "It was Nell, wasn't it?" He shook his head, scoffing. "That girl never knows when to keep her blasted mouth shut; always complaining, never knows her place. You know you can't believe a word she says. Her or her sisters."

The only outward sign that Mr. Abney was getting annoyed was a slight tightness around his mouth, but other than that he was managing to hide his pounding heart. Thirty five years of doing this, and the part where family members got angry was still no easier than it had been when he'd first qualified. He wished Chris would hurry up and fetch Yvonne.

"I cannot go into exact detail of what everyone said, I'm afraid," he replied. "I can, however, go over the accusations in broad terms –"

"Did my boys say anything to you?" Cmdr. Reed cut across him. A sudden thought struck him. "Finlay, what did he say?"

Mr. Abney repeated that he couldn't go into the particulars of what each child had told him. "Commander, where you aware that your father, that he withholds food from your children, nieces, and nephew as a means of punishment?" Mr. Abney responded.

His question was met with a scoff. "He doesn't give them sweets every single bloody time they ask for them, if that's what you mean."

Mr. Abney calmly folded his hands in his lap. "Does he ever send them to bed without any supper?"

Now that seemed to draw Cmdr. Reed up short. "Occasionally," he said, folding his arms across his chest, looking around Mr. Abney's office. "He can get a bit short with them, but he doesn't, he doesn't _mean_ it."

"A bit short with them," Mr. Abney repeated. "I see; and has he ever only allowed the boys to eat bread for an extended period of time?"

"Look, they can be a bit rambunctious, alright," Cmdr. Abney retorted hotly. "My parents are getting on, they need to keep the boys under control and it isn't always easy. My father was in the service for fifty-two years, he has _standards_. He brought us up to understand respect, and honour, and doing one's duty. There's a right way of addressing your superiors. Making sure you're reliable and trustworthy and _loyal_. He made sure we all understood that we all have a part to play in keeping everything ship shape. I understand that, Stuart and Harold understand that, our children understand that. _I made damn sure my boys understand that._ "

Cmdr. Reed had been getting more animated the longer he spoke, in clipped tones, striding up and down, from the desk to the door, and back again. He stopped suddenly, facing Mr. Abney. "I wouldn't expect someone who peddles that half-baked, pseudoscience, emotional intelligence nonsense to understand those values."

Mr. Abney was silent, as he calmly returned the stare; he could feel his heart thumping, but was determined to keep his cool. He highly doubted that this would come to blows; but it wouldn't be the first time in his career that it did.

"Commander, could you please describe Malcolm for me?"

Cmdr. Reed was taken aback at that. "What?"

"Could you please describe him for me?" Mr. Abney calmly repeated. "How has he seemed the last week?"

"He's a very quiet child," Cmdr. Reed was still surprised at the question. "I told you this already."

"But the last week, specifically," Mr. Abney pressed. "He's been home with his grandparents all week, yes?"

Cmdr. Reed was doing a part time course in order to become a registered paramedic; on the days he couldn't pick up Rory from primary school because of his course work, his parents did it for him. His expression turned dark, as he answered the question. "They look after the boys if I can't be there." He scowled. "Which you know."

"And how have your parents been treating Malcolm? Do they, uh, do they, seem _upset_ over the accusations against Meredith?"

"Of course they're upset!" Cmdr. Reed snapped. "Their granddaughter has been accused of abusing their grandson and could be facing a prison sentence – what the blazes kind of question is that? And now this." He threw his arms out. "Now you're accusing my father of, of what exactly? 'Negligence and causing emotional harm? What _rubbish_."

"Can you please describe to me," Mr. Abney began slowly, "Exactly how your parents have been interacting with Malcolm for the last week?"

Seeing that he was not going to let it go, Cmdr. Reed said, "They've been fine; Mum's been making sure he's eating enough, getting enough rest." He faltered for a second. "He's barely spoken, to be honest."

Mr. Abney paused again. "I seem to remember, when we first met last week, you, you said that you brought him with you because you didn't want to leave him at home?"

There was a tick visible in his jaw. "My parents couldn't get out that early in the morning."

"Did you speak to them the night before?"

The tick became more prominent. "What did Finlay say, exactly?" he asked through clenched teeth. "I know he said something. What was it?"

"I don't know what you mean, Commander," Mr. Abney replied smoothly. "I was only wondering why you didn't leave Malcolm with your parents that morning. But what has you worried? About what Finlay could have said?"

"Nothing," Cmdr. Reed said curtly. "He just has a bit of a fanciful imagination, that's all; he tends to exaggerate."

 _A fanciful imagination. Right_. Silence as they just stared each other down. "I spoke to DCI Green," Mr. Abney said, carefully. "And as it turns out, Finlay was the one to bring Malcolm into the police station; he waited with him for fifteen minutes, until you arrived. The constable on the desk said you were rather, well, uh, rather irate, when you, when you initially turned up." Cmdr. Reed opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. "Could I get you a coffee?"

"Finlay told you that?" Cmdr. Reed eventually said.

"DCI Green," Mr. Abney replied. "We were walking ourselves through the case, I mentioned that it was you who brought in Malcolm, and he corrected me; and then showed me the CCTV footage to prove it. I thought I should bring it up with you when we next spoke. So I am." That wasn't strictly true; he'd only asked to see the CCTV footage after speaking with Finlay, and then promptly got the story straight with Claire, Frank, and Yvonne. They were well aware that if the grandfather was made aware of what any of the children said before they could ensure the barring order was in place and effective could end very, very, poorly. "May I ask, if were you even planning on bringing him in at all?"

Cmdr. Reed turned away, running a hand over his jaw. "Finlay brought him in because I couldn't do it that early, I had a couple of early morning errands," he said tersely. "I told him I would meet them there when I was free."

"What errands?" Mr. Abney pursued. "Why couldn't you have brought him in afterwards?"

"You're pretty fucking nosy, you know that?" Cmdr. Reed snapped.

"I do apologise, Commander," Mr. Abney said, softly. "But the more information I have, the more informed my recommendations."

"How could that possibly be informing your recommendations?"

"I need to know where the safest possible place for Malcolm," Mr. Abney told him. "His session with the psychologist yesterday revealed that he's in a very fragile place right now. My priority is his well-being and I will do everything in my power to ensure that. Something we can agree on, I'm sure?"

Cmdr. Reed looked like he was going to make no reply, so Mr. Abney pushed forward with his advantage. "The protection order against your father has already been granted, prohibiting him from seeing your children or your brother Stuart's. Harold and Tessa say that this won't be problem on their end – they're making arrangements to pull their girls out of school already, which is under strict instructions not to let him on school grounds. The court date to determine if this will become a longer lasting safety or barring order will be on the twentieth of December; the week prior has been arranged for Meredith and Jasper. I know you rely on your parents for support with your children; I can make arrangements for assistance – childcare, housekeeping, that sort of thing."

"And if I don't comply? They're my children, Malcolm is living under my roof, I am the one who should be making this decision!"

"After speaking with your children, nieces, your nephew, and your brother, I have more than enough cause to take more drastic action."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning whatever will ensure the children's well-being."

There was a long pause. "You'd take them all away."

"The Campbells have agreed to take custody, to take custody of Malcolm. I have my doubts, Mr. Reed, whether or not your capable of caring for Malcolm; he _is_ extremely fragile right now and needs a good deal of support."

"Which I can give him! As well as my parents! Especially my father..." He trailed off. "My father is…" Again he fell silent. And was silent again, for an even longer time. Eventually he said quietly, "This is a mess."

Archie rocked back on his heels for a moment, and looked as though he was biting back whatever was on the tip of his tongue. But after a moment, he sat down heavily in the chair next to Mr. Abney. He started rubbing the back of his neck, as he stared at the coffee table. Mr. Abney said nothing, waiting for him to speak. He leaned forward on his knees, and clasped his hands, still not looking at Mr. Abney.

"A huge fucking mess. Do you know Finlay will barely speak to me? He's barely spoken to me since Corinne died; it took me two days to get home, you know. Two whole days, to get the message to me, and then to arrange transport back from the Pacific." He looked up at Mr. Abney. "My boys had lost their mother, and they were alone for _two whole_ fucking days afterwards." His voice became thick towards the end.

"Malcolm will barely speak at all," he said, quickly changing the subject. "And of course I have his best interests at heart," he continued. "I know he's been through a lot. I know! I just didn't realise how much." He shook his head. "He always insisted he needed to toughen up – my father; says Malcolm needs to learn how to stand on his own two feet, and I suppose I've been buying into that more and more lately. He's just so shy. He used to much more giddy when he was younger, now I don't think he even smiles that much; at least not when I'm around."

"Has Malcolm, or any of your boys, or your wife ever said anything that, uh, that, that made you suspicious about Meredith?"

Cmdr. Reed shrugged, but dodged the question. "Corinne was American, you know how emotional and exuberant and over the top they can get. Very touchy-feely, always banging on about, about letting it out, and…" He ducked his head again, and again fell silent. "She'd be so much better at this. Corinne, she'd be so much better than me," he repeated, louder. "She'd have this locked in by now."

"I'd love to hear more about her," Mr. Abney said gently. "Finlay said she was a nurse?"

Cmdr. Reed nodded, sitting back in the chair. He was making a visible effort to get himself under control, taking a gulping breath and running a finger over the seam of his jeans leg. It was similar to some of the nervous ticks Malcolm had shown when they'd spoken, playing with his shirt hem and the seams in the sofa. Mr. Abney could see why he would often get told off for fidgeting. Almost as though he'd realised what Mr. Abney was thinking, Cmdr. Reed exhaled sharply through his nose, and straightened his spine. He sat further back in the chair, and draped an arm across the arm rest, in an attempt at nonchalance. The fidgeting stopped.

"She was, yes," he replied, his voice thick again. "She was a nurse practitioner at the GP office not far up the road. A few years ago, she wanted me to distance the boys from my father, and I did," he insisted. He looked directly at Mr. Abney. "I did; she had enough, so I did it to make her happy; and because it seemed best for the boys at the time. It was a sore point with my father, he never, he never could understand why we didn't want him around our children, or why Harold was withdrawing." He ducked his head. "He just couldn't wrap his head around it."

"That sounds like a very difficult situation to navigate."

Archie nodded. "Caused more than one argument between myself and the old goat. And my mother; everyone seems to forget about her part, but she's always there, encouraging him, and sniping at the children. She's a very 'proper' woman, my mother. She's very good at playing the Admiral's Wife."

He bit his lip to stop if from shaking. "I am completely lost without her; Corinne, not my mother." He scrunched up the fist that was resting on his leg. "I don't really remember the few months after she died, to be honest; I know that my mother started coming by more first, and then eventually she brought my father along, and before I knew it, they had everything under control. Everything. Excactly as they like it."

"I know how difficult everything is for you right now," Mr. Abney said, when it didn't look like Archie was going to continue. "And if you tell me what you need, I can make sure your family gets the help it, it, it needs."

Archie said nothing for another moment; Mr. Abney just waited, and then –

"Corinne was collecting evidence. Of what Meredith and Jasper were doing to Malcolm." He said it in a rush, as though he needed to say it before he decided against it. "She did it after every poxy time they came at him."

Mr. Abney's ear perked up at that. "And do you have this evidence?"

"Not anymore."

"What do you mean, uh, not anymore?"

"This is going to ruin my family, do you understand that? It's going to ruin the school, our reputation – everything."

"To be frank, Commander, I am more concerned about the well being of the people _in_ your family than your family's reputation."

Archie just stared at him, his face blank, and for a moment Mr. Abney thought he'd lost him. but then – "Last year, Meredith cut Malcolm's right wrist. He still has the scar; she wrote 'faggot' onto it; onto his arm."

"And this is when Corinne started collecting evidence?"

Archie nodded. "She called me that night, sent me the picture; she was livid she wanted to go to the police immediately, she could be a bit impulsive, but I told her to wait."

"Why wait?"

He stared at Mr. Abney incredulously. "Do you have any idea how well connected my father is? Almost everyone in that school is affiliated with the navy; most of them are from Leicester; the police and magistrates office are two of the most common jobs people go for when they leave the service, my father has his fingers in every poxy pie in this fucking city. There has been someone with the surname Reed in every generation in the Navy since the sixteen hundreds – _every goddamn generation_. Do you have any idea the legacy that affords him? And he leans into it, believe you me."

Mr. Abney clasped his hands in his lap sometime in the middle of Archie's speech. "You told her she needed more evidence."

"She needed a brick fucking wall of evidence."

Mr. Abney said nothing for a moment. "So you did have an idea of what was going on."

"That boy needs to learn to stand up for himself," Archie snapped. "If he can't even stand up against his own sister, how will he ever stand up for his crewmates?"

"That's an awful lot to put on a small boy," Mr. Abney pointed out.

"He's thirteen," Archie shot back. "He'll build up resilience, he'll make this family proud. Meredith just needs to stop –" he searched for his next words. "To stop her carry on, and that'll be the end of it."

"Did your wife agree with that?"

"Like I said – touchy-feely," he replied shortly.

Mr. Abney paused before saying deliberately, "Did your father treat yourself and your brothers as he treats your children?"

"And it made us who we are today!" Cmdr. Reed stood up again, his voice wobbling almost imperceptibly. "You have no idea how demanding it is to serve; you could not possible understand the pressure we are under. My father prepared me for that, for that life, he prepared me to be able to serve and not crack under the pressure and I don't regret a thing."

"And he's preparing your boys for that life?"

"You're damn right he is."

"And before the death of your wife, did you treat your boys like he does now."

Cmdr. Reed faltered, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was a bit soft," he admitted. "I was never as strict with them, Corinne wouldn't allow it."

"Why wouldn't she?"

Silence.

"Why wouldn't she, Commander?" Mr. Abney pushed.

Cmdr. Reed's nostrils flared. "She didn't understand," he said, his voice low.

 _I dare say she didn't,_ Mr. Abney thought. "I'm afraid I don't either," he said. "And neither will the courts; and neither will most people, unfortunately. Can _you_ understand why that is?"

Archie said nothing for a long time; he just stood there silently, glaring at Mr. Abney, who was waiting for him to make the first move.

"You don't know what he's like."

His voice was so low, Mr. Abney almost didn't hear him. "Perhaps not; but I think I'm beginning to get the picture."

Archie turned away from him, and ran his hands over his face, taking a few deep breaths. Mr. Abney gave him some time before speaking again. But where for goodness sake was Yvonne?

"That box," Mr. Abney said, when he thought it was safe to speak again.

"Yes, that box," Archie said, returning to his seat. "That blasted box."

"Do you have it?"

"A few days," Archie began after a few moments of guilty silence. "A few days after the funeral, my mother was cleaning out our wardrobe – I don't know, I think she was looking for clothes to donate. After I'd only just buried my wife, she was looking to get rid of her things – and she came across the box that Corinne kept everything in. My father confronted me about it, we argued, I barely remember what was said, and that's the last I saw of it."

What felt like a lead weight dropped into Mr. Abney's stomach, but he brushed that feeling aside. Claire had picked the judge to apply to; with the help of Chris he was carefully curating his mounting pile of evidence; Yvonne was combing through it, identifying holes or inconsistencies and meticulously filling them in; both Kiki and Frank were running their respective investigations that would complement and bolster the case against Meredith, Jasper, and the Admiral. He had witness statements, character testimonies from the extended family, a psychologists interview with Malcolm, the first of several that would be done, not to mention more than one of the teachers at the school had agreed to speak to Kiki and Frank about what went on. _An exercise in saving your own skin, if ever I saw one_ , Kiki had said. They had enough. They had more than enough.

But there was a nasty little voice inside Mr. Abney's head pointing out that it had only been a week; just one week. And that a lot could happen in the weeks to come.

"We have a lot of evidence already, Commander," Mr. Abney said. "Are you concerned if I don't have the, um, the contents of that box?"

A pause; and then a curt nod.

"Then it would obviously be a big help if I could see what was in it. Which I would imagine is probably going to be impossible if Mrs. Reed has taken it away."

"Not necessarily," Archie told him. "If I know my father, he probably kept it."


	13. The Admiral and Mrs. Reed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe, wash your hands

Archie agreed to block his parents' access to the children; in exchange, Mr. Abney was going to arrange childcare and housekeeping, though Archie had refused grief counselling for himself deciding to allow the children only. At the end of their talk, he was still justifying how his father had raised him and his brothers, although it was much less fervent, and Mr. Abney got the distinct impression that he was a little unwilling to enforce those 'standards' himself. Mr. Abney decided to take what he could get for the moment; he'd get him into a counsellors office eventually. Archie had also agreed to try and find the pictures and recordings that he and Corinne had been collecting. She would know exactly what to do, he insisted; this would never have gotten this far if Corinne had still been alive. He'd also insisted that he knew what she had been doing, had _helped_ her, and that it had actually been _him_ to have picked the police station Finlay brought Malcolm to.

" _May I ask why you didn't tell me this when we first spoke?" Mr. Abney had asked._

" _I'm already going against what my father wants," Archie had said, miserably. "I just wanted this over with."_

Meaning he hadn't thought that it would get this far with only that one incident, and had overestimated his father's influence. And underestimated how much his father's behaviour informed Meredith's. But Mr. Abney and Claire had already looked into the Reed family's connections and the naval connection in Leicester, and they had to admit that it was extensive. This was going to be extremely tricky, and they were already being very, very careful. That being said, it wasn't so much an impossibility as Archie seemed to believe; they would need proof, yes, and lots of it, but it wasn't going to be the extreme uphill battle that Archie seemed to be fearing. Honestly, in his last conversation with him, Archie seemed to be really, really struggling since his wife died, and that he had begun to rely on his parents for almost everything; he was afraid of going against them.

And it wasn't until Mr. Abney actually met them, that he understood why.

Out of all the interviews he had been conducting, this was the one Mr. Abney had been dreading – and they had also been the hardest to pin down.

Despite having avoided Mr. Abney's office, as you would avoid a waste dump for the last two weeks, Adm. and Mrs. Reed were fifteen minutes early. They were waiting in the chairs by Chris's desk, just opposite from Mr. Abney's office. They were deep in conversation with a well-dressed, porridge-faced man that Mr. Abney assumed was their lawyer, Neville Thornton – Claire had had a few choice words to say about _him_. She'd shown him their correspondence after she'd filed for the protection order, and Mr. Abney suspected that it had been the reason that they'd finally agreed to be interviewed by him; Claire certainly wasn't one to back down from a fight.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reed," Mr. Abney said, as he opened his door at the appointed time. He'd purposefully avoided using rank. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Please."

The three of them stalked past him, Mr. Thornton only sparing a curt nod in Mr. Abney's direction.

"Shall we get this over with," Adm. Reed asked, settling himself next to his wife on the sofa next to the door. He was a well-dressed man in his seventies, around his sons' height, and looked fit for his age, still with a full head of black hair that only had a little grey in it. On the contrary, Mrs. Reed was a statuesque woman, her grey hair tied back in a very neat French twist, her matching skirt and blazer immaculate. They both looked like they'd stepped right out of a Billy Wilder film.

"Of course, of course," Mr. Abney said, as he sat down opposite them. "I can only imagine how upsetting this, this entire situation must be for you both."

"Do you," Mrs. Reed drawled, in a distinct Edinburgh accent. It contrasted oddly with Mr. Campbell's Glaswegian one.

"Indeed, I'm not, I'm not insensitive to what you must be feeling," Mr. Abney replied. "Can I get either of you a tea or coffee?"

They both declined, and Mr. Abney set up his recording equipment. "The date is the twenty-sixth of November 2136, Richard Abney, social worker, of the Leicester Child Protective Services, conducting the first interview with Mr. Gordon Reed and Mrs. Caroline Reed. Could you both state your names for the record?"

"Gordon Reed, retired admiral with His Majesty's Navy." Adm. Reed sounded bored, as he gave his name and glanced around the room. His eyes stopped on a point on the wall above Mr. Thornton's head, on some of the drawings Mr. Abney had tacked all over the room.

"Caroline Reed," Mrs. Reed said through pursed lips.

"Thank you," Mr. Abney said, following Adm. Reed's gaze. "Yes, Malcolm, he, uh, drew those." He nodded towards a cluster of sketches of old style ships. "He's very good; has a lot of talent."

Adm. Reed made to speak, but Mrs. Reed lay her hand on his and said, "Yes, Mary was an art teacher before she was married. I believe she does a lot of work with the children."

"Malcolm seems to have really taken to it." A tense smile and a nod were all he received by way of answer. "Do the girls draw that much, do you know?"

"Meredith doesn't have a whole lot of time on her hands," Adm. Reed replied.

"School work, and clubs, no I, I, I imagine she wouldn't. She's on the sailing and tennis teams, am I right?"

"I would have assumed you'd have a list of all her activities," Mrs. Reed said coldly. "It is Meredith that you've been investigating, after all."

"And I think we should just get straight to it," Adm. Reed demanded, cutting across what Mr. Abney was going to say next. He lounged in his seat, perfectly at ease, and he seemed to Mr. Abney to be a man very sure and very used to getting his way. "We're here to talk about Meredith. And why you think her behavior has anything to do with me, is that right? Mr. Abney, of the Leicester Child Protective Services?"

Mr. Abney averted his gaze and flicked through the notes he had on his lap – the pile had been growing steadily in the last two weeks. "May I ask what you've been told already? About why Malcolm has been, has been, uh, removed from his parents' custody?"

"Oh, you may ask," Mrs. Reed replied curtly. "You may ask indeed, but we haven't yet heard a proper reason for you taking the boy away."

"I understand that –"

"Understand, do you?" It was almost a sneer. Adm. Reed sat beside her, looking as though he was vaguely amused by the way this was going.

"And I, I must ask what you've been made aware of by your family." Mr. Abney continued as though there had been no interruption. This was going to be a fun interview.

Mrs. Reed just looked at him for a moment with steely-grey eyes; Mr. Abney tried not to blink. "You've taken our grandson out of school, and your subjecting our granddaughter and her friends to intimidation by your police friend. All because of Malcolm's allergies."

"As I've already told the Admiral and Mrs. Reed," Mr. Thornton piped up, "The evidence against their granddaughter is purely anecdotal; and based on the mental state of their grandson, likely fabricated."

"Malcolm's mental state?"

"Haven't you had a professional speak to him?" Adm. Reed asked derisively. "I would have thought that would be one of the first things you would do."

"I've spoken to Malcolm twice now," Mr. Abney said. "But I'd like to know, to know what you are referring to, exactly."

"Surely you have his school records?" Mrs. Reed asked in disbelief. "That boy is extremely troubled; I don't know how often he's been given detention for one thing or another."

Yes, Mr. Abney had seen Malcolm's school records, he'd even spoken to the school Guidance Counsellor; and yes, he had to admit they showed a troubled child. "It wasn't a pleasant read, I do admit that. It does make my job that bit more difficult, trying to sift through the, the, the differing tales."

"And yet you've already decided where the best place for the boy is," Adm. Reed said. "You certainly didn't waste any time in putting him right where you wanted him; though I do have to complement you on your expedience." The corners of lips quirked up unpleasantly.

"I can go over my reasoning with you," Mr. Abney offered. "Explain anything you don't find, um, clear."

"There's nothing we don't understand," Adm. Reed retorted.

"Well, I know things can get a bit muddled, what with so much information coming at you once. And then emotions can get in the way –"

"I assure you," Mrs. Reed cut him off, "That there are no emotions _in the way_ of anything."

"Are you implying that we are incapable of approaching this objectively?" Adm. Reed asked smoothly.

"We came here to discuss our granddaughter, not to be insulted."

"Shall we discuss your granddaughter, then?" Mr. Abney asked, equally as smoothly. "I was hoping you could shed some light on details I've gotten from the rest of your family."

"The children have already told us what they've told you," Adm. Reed said. "Harold and Theresa as well. And like we said – the boy is trouble; we know it's his word you're taking. And now you've realised your rather large mistake, haven't you."

"My mistake?" Mr. Abney asked, puzzled.

"Believing a word out of that boy's mouth," Mrs. Reed said.

"How is that a, um, a mistake?"

"Um," Adm. Reed mocked, "It's a _mistake_ because you've just wasted time and resources – of your own office _and_ the police, I might add – on the word of a disturbed child desperate for attention."

"You believe Malcolm only wants attention?"

"Of course, why else would he be doing this," Adm. Reed said.

"Do you have examples?"

"What better example could you ask for?"

"Quite right, but I need to hear it in your own words, if you, uh, wouldn't mind," Mr. Abney replied serenely. "So as to have everything as, as _clear_ as possible."

"That surprises me," Mrs. Reed tutted. "I would have thought that our opinion is next to worthless; you did just decide to take our own grandchildren away from us."

"And if I had consulted you, what would you have said?" Mr. Abney replied.

"About what?" Adm. Reed asked. "Meredith? That boy's stories? What is it you want us to say?"

"I should request that you be more specific in your questions, Mr. Abney," Mr. Thornton said. "So as to keep the ambiguity to a minimum."

"Of course, of course." Mr. Abney rifled through his notes again; he always found it best to be more general with his questions when speaking to families, and let them tell him what they wanted to and felt was important – then he went in with the specifics; it kept it from turning into an outright interrogation. But he could accommodate them. "In that case, could we start by telling me how often you see your son Harold's children?"

"Every weekend," Mrs. Reed replied curtly. "We all attend eleven o'clock mass in St. Peter's Church."

"All four of them?"

"Obviously," Adm. Reed drawled.

"And outside of mass?"

Adm. Reed hesitated for half a beat before replying. "They come back to the house for Sunday tea afterwards."

"And the odd Friday and Saturday for supper," Mrs. Reed added.

"They come over to your house?"

Mrs. Reed pursed her lips. "Our son, Archie's; we see them there."

Mr. Abney read his notes but it was only for show; he'd memorised everything in them. "Do they ever, um, do they ever visit you in your own home?"

"We're their grandparents, of course they visit us." Mrs. Reed's lips had gone so thin that they were merely a straight line.

"That's contrary to what I've, um, been told." Mr. Abney crossed his hands over his notes and peered calmly at the Reed's opposite him.

"Um, is it," Adm. Reed retorted, tapping his fingers against the armrest. "And what exactly have you been told?"

"Only that they don't visit; and that mass on Sunday is the only contact you have with them."

The Reeds just stared at him impassively, not saying anything for a moment.

"And who, may I ask, told you that?" Mrs. Reed asked coolly.

"Harold and Tessa when I, when I interviewed them," Mr. Abney replied easily. "And your granddaughters."

"What nonsense," Adm. Reed snapped.

"Adm. and Mrs. Reed see their grandchildren regularly," Mr. Thornton interjected, sensing danger from the Admiral. "They are nothing but doting grandparents and have done nothing to deserve the scrutiny of this office; as I informed your _colleague,_ Ms. Phelan."

"Then why did Harold and Tessa indicate otherwise?"

"Perhaps you misunderstood," Mrs. Reed said, sweetly. "I'm sure conducting so many interviews is quite taxing; perhaps you confused your notes." She indicated the file Mr. Abney had on his lap and the pile on the table in front of him.

"No, no, I don't think I did," Mr. Abney replied, indicating the recording equipment in front of him. "They were quite emphatic; I believe Harold hasn't taken the girls out sailing in quite some time?"

"Not because of me," Adm. Reed scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief at what to him was an absurd insinuation. "Those girls have no business being out on the water; I was glad Harold finally saw some sense."

"And why would you say that?"

"Say what? Why I think my son has no sense?"

"Why you don't believe his girls have any business on the water? I thought being able to handle a, um, a boat was vital to joining the service?"

"They don't have the mettle," Adm. Reed derided the idea. He was about to continue but fell silent when his wife put her hand on his knee.

"My husband knows full well how difficult it is to dedicate your life to serving one's country," she answered smoothly. "The sacrifices one has to make are immense, and unfortunately neither Helen nor Cora are of a character suited to it."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because I've been watching them out on the water for years," Adm. Reed said. "They can't think on their feet; they're not strong enough to handle the rigging on their own; and they get so upset, for goodness sake, I can't say boo to them, and Harold is kicking up a fuss."

"So Harold doesn't approve of how you speak to them?"

"Harold is in the service," Adm. Reed countered, leaning forward and waving his finger at Mr. Abney. "He knows full well the degree of grit, and spirit required; if he thinks they have the fortitude (and despite what he says, I know he does) then they will get the shock of their lives when they try to enroll in the Academy."

"And if they can't handle their own grandfather, how will they handle the pressures the service brings."

Adm. Reed shifted forward again and opened his mouth the reply, but Mr. Thornton quickly leaned forward and raised a hand to cut him off. The Admiral sat back, biting his cheek.

"The Admiral is only tempering the girls' expectations," Mr. Thornton said. "No grandparent would wish the set their grandchild up for failure, I'm sure you would agree. He is simply a guiding hand, trying to direct the girls towards a profession they would be more suited to."

"Yes, I see, I see quite often in my profession how much grandparents can enrich the lives of their grandchildren," Mr. Abney said. "It takes a village to raise a child, after, after all."

"I'm glad you agree," Mrs. Reed said. "We only want what's best for them."

"That's what I like to hear," Mr. Abney raised his hands, offering them a half smile. "Having the whole family on board makes my job that much easier. I understand that the military does of, um, of, of course come with a unique set of pressures and demands. I understand that your family has quite a long history in the Senior Service?"

"Every generation of Reed has served in the His Majesty's Navy since sixteen seventy eight," Adm. Reed said primly. Mrs. Reed smiled demurely at her husband.

"Quite impressive," Mr. Abney agreed. "Quite impressive indeed. Was your own father in the service?"

"He served in the third World War," Adm. Reed responded. There was a reverential note in his voice. "He was born the year it broke out; knew nothing but war time, rationing and the like, for his entire childhood and most of his adult life. Now that was man who understood hardship." His lips quirked up in a fond smile at the mention of his father.

"And the both of you were born during the Post-Atomic Horror, am I correct?" Mr. Abney asked softly.

"We were," Mrs. Reed replied. "I still have the ration books somewhere."

"You'd need a lot of grit and pluck to, uh, to, uh, survive the immediate aftermath."

"Not that you would know," Adm. Reed sneered.

Mr. Abney dropped his gaze, and gave a small, thoughtful smile. "I have a few ration books myself, from my childhood," he told them. "I was born in the early eighties; I'm sure you remember the strikes and the marches."

Of course they did. It was only in the last thirty years or so that England was in relative peace, having been excluded from the Celtic Alliance Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and the Ilse of Man had created during the war. The Alliance had been renamed the Atlantic Archipelago Coalition in 2096 when England joined. It gave them much more negotiating power when the European Hegemony was founded a few years later.

"I lost two brothers in the Edinburgh riots in 2075," Mrs. Reed said, fondly thinking back on her brothers. "They were policemen."

It was one of the many riots, though one of the most notorious, that occurred in the years after the war when the first governments started reestablishing themselves; people protesting the lack of food, jobs, and medical care had quickly turned violent, until after two weeks of almost nonstop rioting the city that had barely been rebuilt was almost leveled again.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mr. Abney told her. "It was certainly a harsh time to grow up in, I remember, I remember that much. It's only natural to want your children to be able to withstand the pressure and be able to survive. My two boys having to grow up in that world is something I certainly fear myself."

" _My_ boys would survive it," Adm. Reed said, a hint of pride in his voice. "There is no greater calling than to serve one's country in the armed forces; there is no greater security, neither. It prepares you for anything; come what may, they would survive."

"We need to keep our country and our allies safe," Mr. Abney agreed, tapping his pencil against his note pad.

"Precisely."

The Admiral seemed pleased that they appeared to be on the same page; and Mr. Abney did remember rationing, and all the civil unrest when he was growing up. It was certainly a frightening thought, the possibility of more war and violence. Which was why he was so whole heartedly committed to the European Hegemony, and the Coalition, and the International Development Goals the world governments had agreed upon. His entire job was centered around children's rights and wellbeing, helping to create happy, empathetic adults. Otherwise known as Goal number Four.

"Then your family has much to be proud of," Mr. Abney remarked.

"They were the best years of my life," Adm. Reed replied, solemnly. "I did lose my brother, though; thirty years ago, now. He gave his life so his crewmates could survive; he knew exactly what he was doing, he knew he full well wouldn't be returning home. Your darn right my family has much to be proud of."

"And all three of your children chose to enter the service, and uh, and several of your grandchildren have the same aspirations."

"They do indeed," Adm. Reed said proudly. He smiled at his wife as she took his hand again.

"And I understand the desire to ensure they are prepared when they do, when they do eventually join."

"They have to understand," Adm. Reed said earnestly, ignoring Mr. Thornton as he cleared his throat warningly. "It isn't a game, they will have their compatriots lives in their hands, as well as their own. They need to be disciplined, they need to understand integrity and loyalty."

"And you do everything to instill those values in them."

"I certainly do." He sat back, satisfied.

"Do you ever give them an example of what they will need to be able to do and to accomplish in order to serve effectively?"

"You already know that the Admiral has taught all of grandchildren to sail," Mr. Thornton jumped in quickly before Adm. Reed could say anything. "They also go camping, and the like."

Mr. Abney just nodded, not saying anything for a moment. "Malcolm did mention that he wants to perfect his survival skills; he seems to have his heart set on joining up when he's older."

An ugly look flashed across Adm. Reed's face, but was gone just as fast. "I'm aware," was all he said.

"You don't think he'd be suited to it?" Mr. Abney asked innocently.

"He will be," he replied shortly. "Just needs to be guided in the right direction, but he will be. He needs to learn the difference between fiction and reality first, I must admit," he continued when Mr. Abney stayed silent.

"This has obviously thrown us all for a loop," Mrs. Reed said. "But with the proper guidance, the boy will turn out just fine."

"What kind of guidance, do, do, do you think he needs?"

"Nothing from your office," Mrs. Reed drawled. "This is nothing that cannot be handled by the family."

"Handled by the family," Mr. Abney repeated slowly.

"As it should be," Mr. Thornton said. "As already pointed out, the child is troubled: biting classmates; throwing books at teachers and fellow pupils; he's in a fight every other week, and then blames everything on everyone but himself. It's all in his school file – behaviour, school marks, it's all in there."

"Have either of you ever had words with him?" Mr. Abney asked. "About his behaviour?"

"My husband handles most of the discipline."

"Such as? Physical discipline?"

"The occasional box around the ears," Adm. Reed admitted. "Nothing my father didn't do to me."

"Good preparation for the hardships encountered while in the Senior Service?"

There was a pause before Adm. Reed replied. "Nothing close to physical hardships encountered in the service." He leaned forward again, his arms on his knees; Mr. Abney could see the resemblance with Archie just then. "I've been knocked about by rough seas; I was involved in the blockade of Australia in 2088, I've been in combat. The odd smack round the head is _nothing_ compared to what I've endured."

"So your goal is to toughen Malcolm up?"

"They all need to firm up," the Admiral said. "The whole lot of them; can't go crying to Mum when something goes wrong, or they've had a tough day on the Oggin. Out there you can only rely on yourself, and your mates; and they all need to be able to stand firm or they'll all crumble. Simple as that."

"And I understand that Malcolm in particular has something of a weak constitution, what with his allergies and asthma," Mr. Abney remarked offhandedly.

"He'll learn to cope," Adm. Reed said. "Just needs to be more determined to do it."

"And how are you helping him learn to cope?" Mr. Abney asked benignly.

"If he improves his fitness levels," the Admiral started, slowly, "Then he won't need that drat inhaler so often; just needs to improve his lung function."

Mr. Abney pretended to flick through his files again. "Admiral, have you ever withheld Malcolm's inhaler from him?"

Adm. Reed glared at him, and ignored his solicitor. "I push him," he said. "He needs to know what his limits are."

Mr. Abney paused, then said, "So that's a yes."

"You're putting words in my client's mouth," Mr. Thornton said.

"Then have your client answer the question."

He didn't; both Adm. and Mrs. Reed stayed silent.

"So that's a yes," Mr. Abney repeated. "Are you aware of how severe Malcolm's asthma is?"

"It's not, it's only Mary being overprotective," Mrs. Reed dismissed with a wave of her hand. "And the boy obviously believes whatever his mother tells him, and thinks it's more serious than it is."

Mr. Abney replied, "Were you are of the number of times Malcolm has been hospitalised because of his asthma." They weren't, but they assumed it wasn't many. "Five; and that's only in the year and a half since he started Oakham. It's been classified as severe, by his GP."

They said nothing in response to that, just exchanged a glance.

"Bread and water," Mr. Abney said, once it became apparent that they weren't going to say anything else. "Quite an old Navy punishment, is, is it not?"

"That was scrapped years ago," Adm. Reed said sourly.

"In 1891," Mr. Abney said. "Reinstated in 2047, before being scrapped again in 2110."

"Rightly so." The Admiral sounded like he disagreed.

"But not in your house." Mr. Abney cocked his head to the side. "Nor in your son's, Archie's."

"That is ridiculous," Mr. Thornton interjected. Mr. Abney could tell he was starting to wish he'd come alone. "One more absurd accusation from a disturbed child –"

"Malcolm didn't tell me that," Mr. Abney replied. "Your granddaughters did; your other grandsons did; and two of your sons as well."

There was a very pregnant pause after that statement.

"Archie and Harold," Adm. Reed said in a low voice. His wife's lips were pursed to tightly this time that they'd nearly disappeared. "I assume it wasn't Stuart; as the eldest he always had a better sense of responsibility and duty."

"So you don't deny putting your grandchildren on bread and water when they misbehave?"

"They need to know their place." His voice was still low and dangerous. "I won't tolerate any of their cheek or shirking of their responsibilities."

"There is no denying the Admiral is strict –"

"No, Mr. Thornton, there's, there's not," Mr. Abney replied smoothly. "But I am interested, in the, um, in the degree. And we've established that you put them on a diet of solely bread and water; what's the longest amount of time you've had them on, on, on that?"

" _On, on, on that_ ," Adm. Reed sneered. "You must be a joy giving testimony, mustn't you."

"I get my message across," Mr. Abney replied, unfazed. "How long would you restrict your grandchildren's food intake to solely bread and water at any one time?"

"You don't need to answer that." Mr. Thornton stepped in quickly. And the Admiral didn't.

"Up to a week is what I was told, and is what, what I will be telling the judge –"

"You can tell him whatever you like," Mrs. Reed barked. "I won't let you tarnish my husband's good name by insinuating that he'd doing something wrong."

"That is not my intention," Mr. Abney told. "I assure you, ma'am, I have no intentions of that sort."

"Don't you," she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Mrs. Reed, my job is to identify areas where families could use assistance and to do my best to keep them together."

"And yet you've taken my son's boy away," Adm. Reed shot back.

"And will be doing everything in my power to enable his parents to ensure his safety; and that of Meredith."

"Meredith's safety!" The Reeds were aghast, not expecting that.

"What are you on about?" Mrs. Reed asked waspishly, drawing herself up. "We are nothing but fond of that girl; we do everything in our power to make sure she has what she needs, we go to every single one of her tennis matches, she spends almost every weekend at our house. Meredith's safety, indeed!"

"Have you ever called her…" Mr. Abney checked his notes. "'A useless cunt'? No? What about a 'waste of space'? No comment? What about…" he flicked through his notes again. "What about your reaction to when she loses one of those tennis matches?"

"Mr. Abney, may I speak to you alone –" Mr. Thornton started, but Adm. Reed angrily cut him off.

"No, no," he said, sitting up straighter, a visible tick in his jaw as he waved a hand dismissively in Mr. Thornton's direction. "No. Tell me, Mr. Abney: do you think she will be mollycoddled on ship? Hmm? Do you think that when she bungles one of her duties she'll be told that it was just an accident and that it could happen to anyone?" He scoffed. "No one will hold her hand; no one. Nor Finlay's, nor Callum's, nor Rory's."

"They have to be prepared," Mr. Abney clarified.

"And they will be. They won't crumble under the pressure."

"And to prepare them, you speak to them as they will be by superiors. Reprimand them as though they are sailors under your command."

"I do it to teach them respect." Adm. Reed sat back, self-satisfied. "I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand."

Mr. Abney just looked at Adm. Reed in silence; he was doing a very good job of keeping his face impassive. Eventually he said, "But they're only children."

"And if I could give them the luxury of acting like children, I would." Adm. Reed clenched his jaw tightly, attempting to lounge back and project a picture of ease. Mrs. Reed looked as though she was wound tighter than a drum. "You say you remember what it was like, but you only got the tail end of it; you don't remember, you couldn't possibly. Ireland, Scotland, you think they've forgotten old gripes? What about India? Did you know that they have the second largest Navy in the world, after ours? Did you know the yanks still have the biggest air force? The European Union didn't last a hundred years, how long do you think the Hegemony will?"

"A mistake, that's what it is," he spat, shrugging off his wife's hand. "Throwing our lot in with people who don't share our values; you think any of this peace is going to last? You're more deluded than I thought if you do."

He ran a hand over his jaw. "Five years away from eradicating poverty worldwide, what tosh; you take your boot off the backs of some people and you know how they'll repay us? With their own weapons programs; with more mines hidden around our shores so our brave men and women, like my brother will perish! My grandchildren, Mr. Abney will not have the luxury of being children much longer, believe you, me."

He sat back, and finally broke eye contact with Mr. Abney once he'd finished his tirade, running his hand over his jaw again, in a manner that was very reminiscent of Archie. They were all silent for the longest time yet, before Mr. Thornton eventually stood up and said that the interview was over.

"One more question, if I may," Mr. Abney said, as they all got to their feet.

"Just the one," Mrs. Reed sneered, though the effect was ruined by how white she had gone.

Mr. Abney ignored her. "Are you aware of any of the rumours going around Oakham School, surrounding Malcolm's sexual orientation?"

"Yes, well, if he didn't act like a ridiculous little Nancy boy then nobody would bother the little poofter, then would they?"

Mrs. Reed put a hand on her husband's arm, and he fell silent, giving Mr. Abney one last disparaging look. And with that, they stalked through the door, leaving a sour taste in Mr. Abney's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer to write than normal, as it was really difficult to get the Admiral's personality, and motivations, Mrs. Reed's speech patterns right, and I'm not entirely happy with it. Any and all feedback and criticisms will be welcome <3


	14. Mr. Abney Pt. 2

_One, two, three –_

Richard glanced around from setting each cup in front of each chair, wondering where he had put that last cup. _And four_ , he spotted it hiding behind the sugar bowl and placed it in the empty spot, all four of them surrounding the matching teapot. He'd just finished double checking everything was as so, when the door to his office opened and Chris walked in holding a coffee pot – also matching and patterned with cuddly-looking cartoon ducks.

"They'll be along in a minute," Chris told him as he placed it on the table. He opened to the lid of the sugar bowl and peered critically inside. "Think I'll top that up, you know what Claire's like."

"Cheers, Chris," Richard said as Chris took it away, passing Claire Phelan in the doorway. She was closely followed by Yvonne Autié, dressed in a flowing skirt and matching blouse, who Richard could also tell was coming down the corridor because of her bracelets clinking together. She had moved to Leicester six years after university, and her French accent had not softened in the last four, although her hair had changed colour multiple times. The two of them sat down without an invitation and continued chatting about the upcoming office Christmas party, helping themselves to biscuits that Richard had already laid out.

"That's a month away," Richard interrupted sitting down opposite Yvonne.

"Three weeks," Claire replied, helping herself to another Chocolate Digestive.

"Still though."

"Everywhere is starting to take bookings, we need to get on it. I don't fancy having it in the conference room."

Claire was a sallow skinned woman in her thirties, her straight inky black hair cut to her chin, and dressed in a neat pair of navy slacks and a button-up blue blouse. A thick fringe was just tickling her eyes, and she brushed it out of the way as her sharp brown eyes glanced around the room, trying to figure out which of the drawings were new.

"Well, come on," Richard good naturedly teased, "Bet you can't tell."

It was a game the two of them played; almost every centimetre of the office wall was covered by children's drawings, that Richard rotated around based on when he signed off on a case. Sometimes he rotated them around just because new ones suited a particular theme. Claire and Yvonne liked to try and guess which ones had just been put up, which wasn't always easy. Before she could say anything else Chris returned with the sugar bowl, which Claire eagerly took and started shoveling five teaspoons into her cup.

"Let's get started then," Richard said, opening up his notepad; next to him Chris had a PADD in his hand and a stylus poised to take notes. "Chris can you give us a recap?"

Chris toggled some tabs on his PADD and started reading aloud. "Right you are, Richard; So, LCPS has been conducting an investigation into the extended Reed family, initiated by accusations by Archie Reed that his niece by his brother Stuart Reed, Meredith aged sixteen, was physically abusing his nephew, her brother, Malcolm aged thirteen. Malcolm has suffered numerous suspect injuries over the years, and a psychological review revealed a child that tends to lash out physically when threatened, but is otherwise extremely timid, and has indicated a fear of his sister. The investigation has been extended to include the paternal grandparents of the children, Gordon and Caroline Reed, due to suspicion of neglect and emotional abuse of all eleven of their grandchildren. An enquiry into abuse and assaults perpetuated by pupils of Oakham School, attended by all of the Reed children, is being conducted by Mansfield House and a parallel enquiry into whether these incidents are being allowed and/or encouraged by faculty is being conducted by Ofsted. Based on medical records and testimony from all family members, including the grandparents' own admissions, a protection order has been issued barring Meredith from contacting her brother; likewise, a PO has been issued to the grandparents, blocking their access to their grandchildren."

"Just the grandfather."

Chris looked up at Claire. "Pardon, Claire?"

She took a sip of her coffee. "It's only in place against the grandfather, it hasn't been extended to the grandmother. Yet."

"Are you on that?" Richard asked. "And thank you, Chris."

Claire nodded, rolling her coffee mug between her hands. "I have a meeting with the barrister on Monday morning," she told him. "At the hearing we're going to push for the PO to be upgraded and to include the grandmother."

"Good, good," Richard nodded, reading through his notes; he'd gotten an update from DCI Frank Green that morning. "That's good. Now, we've more than enough for to apply for a barring order against Meredith; however Frank told me this morning that he can't get near either Meredith or Jasper; and the Crown Prosecutor isn't helping matters, raising doubt about the validity of the evidence."

"Noah Cholmeley?" Chris piped up, looking up from where he was taking notes. He started searching his PADD. "He enlisted in the Royal Navy at the age of nineteen; spent five years in the Navy and finished his tour around twenty years ago. I looked into the Magistrate's Office," he shrugged, looking up from what he was reading. "I have a list of all CPS employees in the East Midlands who served."

Claire took the list. "I'll see if we can get someone as non-biased as possible," she said, scanning the list. "But the District Judge is fine, we already vetted him."

Claire would be advocating for LCPS for the hearing next month, and the hearing into the criminal charges against the children in the Youth Court, once Frank finished his own investigation.

"I'm going to go above his head, and see if I can't get someone less biased assigned," she said. "And if the grandparents' case reaches the Crown Court, then we have to find Crown Advocates who have never set foot on a boat." She shrugged and sighed, handing Chris his PADD back. That bit more work for her.

And Richard had more bad news: Kiki was being stonewalled at the school; turns out they'd had a heads up and the teachers were closing ranks. There had also been some 'unavoidable' technological mishap where a bunch of CCTV footage had been erased, as well as some of the students medical records from the nurse's office. It was going to take months to sort through the bullshit.

"The teachers may actually speak on Meredith and Jasper's behalf," Richard told them. "And paint a picture of Malcolm as the problem child. Archie seemed worried about his father's former colleagues being called as character witnesses against him and claiming that he's become 'disturbed' since Corinne died."

"We have the audio," Yvonne said, tucking a strand of her wispy dyed-blonde hair behind her ear. "From last week they even backed themselves around the corner."

"Into," Claire said, hiding her mouth behind her coffee.

"Into the corner," Yvonne corrected after a beat. She tapped Claire's leg with the back of her hand and quirked up one side of her mouth in smile. "That does make more sense. We will need more clarification from the grandchildren and Harold Reed."

"Interviews are already set up for this month for Malcolm, Archie and his sons, and Harold's family in the new year," Chris said. He continued, feigning puzzlement. "I did try to set up another meeting with the Admiral and Mrs. Reed, but for some reason they never got back to me."

"I'll talk to the solicitor," Claire sighed. She shook her head, looking annoyed; Richard remembered her last bout of correspondence with him. He would not have traded places with her for the world.

"Meredith is hurting Malcolm," Yvonne said, "We know that; the grandparents, are neglectful to a dangerous amount, we know that too. We have patterns, and all the stories from the cousins match up (more or less); both Archie and Harold can back up their claims, plus the Campbells. But what about his parents?"

"They'll be flying in from Malaysia next week," Richard replied. "Hopefully I can get them to let me speak to their daughters."

Claire told him she was on that. "Right, well, how much the parents themselves do or do not know is up for debate," Richard pointed out.

The picture that had been painted of Stuart was all over the place: he was doting; he was too harsh; he was supportive; he was forcing Malcolm to take up his own interests; he constantly degraded him; he openly adored him; no, he obviously loved his child, it was only when his father was around that he told him off.

"It's not loose on me," Yvonne said, "That it is the Campbell side that are much more critical of his parenting skills." She had slumped down slightly in the last two hours, leaning her shoulder on Claire.

"Lost on you," Claire corrected, turning her head to look at Yvonne.

"Hmm?"

"It's 'lost on you'."

"I don't get it."

Claire smirked. "That's because it's lost on you."

Yvonne just stared at her. "I will smush this in your face," she said exasperated, holding up a digestive she had taken a bite out of. Claire just opened her mouth wide, and pointed into it. Yvonne obliged.

"'tank ooh," Claire said through a mouthful of digestive.

"Stuart's brothers were very quick to defend him," Yvonne continued, helping herself to another biscuit. "The Campbells, not so much."

"I noticed that as well," Richard said, rubbing the back of his neck. "And there is some serious doubt as to what Sherry Campbell told me."

He'd brought up his mother's relationship with Sherry to Finlay and he'd said that his mother found her irritating and obnoxious, and that she hadn't known anything about the box of evidence until Finlay told her about it – she'd stopped by at his house once she'd arrived in Leicester to see Malcolm, and it had been Malcolm that told her that Corinne had been getting him to do. Finlay then said that she'd confronted him about where the pictures and videos were, and that's when he'd told her the full story. He doubted she knew anything close to the full extent of what was going on before Finlay told her.

"But Finlay lied about whether or not his father knew about it," Claire pointed out.

"Or Archie is lying about helping her," Chris pointed out.

"Okay, but put it like this," Yvonne said, "Would any mother tell her son that she was going to divorce his father once she had enough evidence to get custody of his cousin?"

"Would she tell Sherry that, either?" Claire agreed.

"I spoke to his in-laws in the States," Richard said, to some surprised looks. "Last night. They said that Corinne never once indicated that she wasn't happy with Archie; and they did confirm that she didn't like Sherry, or Archie's extended family, and they said that she was worried about Malcolm. But it doesn't sound like she ever really confided the extent of it."

Richard then told them about what they'd said about how rude the Reeds were to Mr. Danvers's side of the family, the few times they'd been together. Mrs. Danvers told him about an incident at Archie and Corinne's wedding, when Mrs. Reed pointed out Corinne's obviously mixed-race family, and lamented about how their grandchildren could look like that. Mr. Reed then replied that since Corinne was biracial, they're children _could_ look white. They were apparently relieved that at least one of Archie's children was white passing.

"And she _didn't_ want to leave him?" Chris asked, appalled.

"Had a few rows with his father over it," Richard replied. "And they did say that Archie agreed to put some distance between his father and the children about four or five years ago and that he stuck to it; until Corinne passed, at least."

"But why would Finlay lie about his mother wanting a divorce?" Claire pressed on.

"Because he's angry with what he sees as his father's inaction," Richard shrugged. "He told me he blames Meredith and Jasper for his mother's death, not Malcolm; it's possible he thinks that if his father stepped in sooner, or supported his mother then perhaps she would still be alive."

There were too many ways to cast doubt on the case: Finlay had lied about some things, Sherry had lied about others, Archie wanted Meredith put away but saw very little wrong in his father's behaviour, the Campbells were biased and unreliable, and Malcolm himself was only barley cooperating… And now it looked like they were going to face a wall of silence from the schoolteachers, and possibly a parade of respectable Navy men to give character witness.

"What about Harold?" Yvonne asked, looking quizzically at Richard.

"He could be our ace in the hole," Chris pointed out hopefully.

Richard shook his head. "Except that he did not want to be speaking badly about his father. He might not do it again."

"But you have the tape."

"And that might be all I have."

"His two eldest daughters?"

"Are best friends with Finlay, and have openly said that they hate Meredith; and their mother did say that they would go out of their way ignore her when they were small."

"Okay, well, why do you believe that Meredith is guilty?" Claire asked after a long, uncomfortable pause. "Why did you make the decision to place him with Archie in the first place?"

"It was purely precautionary," Richard replied, shrugging. "Archie already had guardianship, there was no, no, no reason not to. A very ill young boy came into my office, seemed scared of his, of his sister, seemed scared of his grandfather – honestly, the only reason I, I, I had to request the PO was because of his roommate's statement. And don't get too excited, they'll try to throw that out as well."

"But are you going to return him to his parents?" Chris pressed. He had a good point; Meredith and Malcolm would not be able to live in the same house until they were sure she wasn't going to start hurting him again.

"She's more than likely going to be remanded into custody," Claire told him. "I meant to ask Kiki, if it's a good idea to keep her at that school until the hearing."

"I think she mentioned that it wasn't," said Richard, cleaning his glasses and holding them up to the light before pushing them back up his nose. "I want her to return to Malaysia with her parents when they get here, Malcolm can stay with Archie until the investigation is concluded, and then…" He started cleaning his glasses again, having decided that they weren't clean enough.

There was a pause before Chris asked, "Then what?"

"Then," Claire said, turning to him with a look on her face that showed exactly how little she enjoyed this part of her job, "She's tried in the Youth Court for assault, psychological abuse, and emotional abuse. Along with her little friends."

There was a heavy silence for a moment. They didn't enjoy sending children to youth detention. Claire was going to have to be the one to try the case in the Youth Court, and to do that she was going to have to keep in touch with Frank – they'd exchanged contact information before he'd left. She was thankful that she wasn't going to be the one prosecuting the Reeds indictment when that eventually came around – she had a feeling that going up against Thornton during the PO hearing was going to age her prematurely. Then again, she would love to completely obliterate him in the Magistrate's Court one last time before it got sent to the Crown Court…

Richard shook them out of it. "Well, we don't even have, have a charging decision yet, do, do we? One thing at a time – hearings on the twentieth first, then we can start to seriously think about indictments, and, and, and the rest of it."

"But are we letting Malcolm go back with his parents after the hearing?" Yvonne asked, with a pointed look at Richard. "We cannot allow him into the home with Meredith and if she's been taken out of the school, then where else is there for her to go?"

"Why does Malcolm have to stay with his uncle until Meredith is tried?" Chris asked, furrowing his brow.

Richard and Yvonne exchanged a glance. "We can't ask the parents to choose between the two of them," Richard explained.

"But we can only do recommendations," Yvonne said.

"Which is that Malcolm should stay with his uncle until after Meredith is tried, or the case is dropped," Richard said. "At that point, his parents will regain custody."

"Unless they are less suitable than Archie," Yvonne added, "But I doubt that." She aimed a pointed glance at Richard. "So far, I am more inclined to believe the parents are in denial – not complicit."

Richard was going to decide that when he spoke to them next week; they decided to call it a day then, having been speaking for over two hours at that point. They helped Richard put his office back in order, and Chris took the tea tray back to the kitchen

They still weren't sure about the parents – as Claire rightly pointed out, what parents wouldn't immediately fly into the country when they found out that they had lost custody of their son? It was going to be a very interesting conversation when he finally spoke to Stuart and Mary, and to be honest he was expecting Gordon 2.0. But then again, his nieces and nephews seemed to like him, and Harold had been quick to jump to his defense – and very slow to Archie's. If his father's influence was removed, Stuart would more than likely be the doting and affectionate father that Harold painted him as.

Richard hoped. He turned on his computer and opened his email; he was going to need to speak with his counterparts in Bagan Datoh and have them start the proceedings on their end; the family was going to need to be monitored if the Reeds did take Meredith and Madeline back home.

Madeline... That poor girl had largely been forgotten in the maelstrom surrounding her brother being removed from the school and her sister being questioned over it. Richard surely hadn't given her much thought in the last three week, other than to make sure that she was not in danger but her parents hadn't allowed him to actually speak to her, and there was no evidence that Meredith was harming her as well so Malcolm had naturally taken up most of his attention. He had made sure that Kiki and Yvonne were checking up on her every now and again, and she seemed fine. Shaken, certainly, but overall fine. Still, Richard worried.

And then there was Archie… who wasn't the picture of stability and Richard couldn't be sure his parenting style wasn't going to be that similar to his own father; but Richard was going to be closely monitoring the situation over the coming weeks and hopefully with the right support things could get back on track for them – he remembered what Archie said about Finlay barely speaking to him since his mother died…

There were far too many ways any half decent lawyer could twist everything around. Too many people with their own agenda, bad mouthing the others, and throwing doubt on everything else they said. Honestly, Richard himself wasn't sure who was really telling the truth, and was just trying to wade through a quagmire of family grievances and biases, everyone trying to one-up the other side. He thought about rereading the interview transcripts and statements, but at this point he'd read them so many times he could recite them…

But the patterns of injury were obvious, at least to him; Malcolm was certainly a damaged child, Thornton hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that Malcolm bit people when frightened, he was inappropriately clingy to one of his teachers, and when Richard kept pressing him about Meredith he for a fleeting moment thought he was going to throw everything off of the table. But children like Malcolm do not exist in a vacuum. And it was going to have to be Claire that convinced the bench of that.

Not for the first time, and not for the last, Richard told himself that he did not envy Claire's job.


	15. Stuart and Mary

Stuart was reeling. His family had said those things? _His own family?_ He could expect it from Mary's side, they'd never liked him after all, but from Harold and Tessa? From Archie? His mother and father had been less then helpful, no surprise there; he should have asked them to refuse to speak to Abney, but with charges against his own father he didn't see how that would be possible.

"The only reason… the only reason I _said_ that I wasn't allowing Malcolm to do art for his GCSEs was because my father wouldn't approve," Stuart said, as evenly as he could manage. He took a steadying breath before continuing, "If I said anything to the contrary then Archie would have turned around and told the old goat. I just didn't want the argument. But that's not what I told Malcolm, I just told him to keep it from his grandfather."

He was starting to feel lightheaded and barely registered Mary's hand on his, or that he was squeezing it back. He could lose Malcolm. They might actually lose Malcolm. And what about the girls? God only knew what their plan was for Meredith, and no one had really mentioned Madeline yet…

"My wife was an art teacher, for goodness sake," he insisted. "Mary, tell him."

"That is all total rubbish," she insisted, her voice shaking. The pair of them had been completely mute while Mr. Abney was speaking, and both were scrambling to get their thoughts in order. "His grandparents are wonderful to him. Just wonderful."

"As those affidavits can attest to," Mr. Thornton interjected, calmly gesturing at the PADD that Mr. Abney had discarded earlier in the interview. "Like I already told your colleague, a Ms. Phelps –"

"Phelan."

"Pardon?"

"Claire Phelan is the name of the legal attaché to his office," Mr. Abney corrected him. "I've believe you've had quite a lot of, of correspondence with her already."

"A Ms. Phelan," Mr. Thornton sneered, "Like I have already informed your Ms. Phelan a large number of the extended family have not only written in support of Lt. and Mrs. Reed, but have agreed to act as character witnesses for the hearing in three weeks." He continued overconfidently, "Not to mention the Headmistress of Oakham –"

"The one under investigation?" Mr. Abney interrupted. He turned to the Reeds. "Were you aware that Ms. Bardsley-Kemp is being investigated for covering up assaults of pupils _by_ other pupils? Namely committed by her nephew, Jasper."

 _Of bloody course she was_ , Stuart thought with a pang. _Sun shines out of that little prick's arse_. Jasper was a sore point with Stuart, and had been for years; he'd never wanted him playing with Meredith when he was younger, feeling like he was a bad influence; and he was always _so rough_ with the younger children, _and_ he was always fighting with Finlay. But no, his father had been an aide to Stuart's own father, which meant that the families would get together quite often and Stuart had no say in it. And Henry, Jasper's father was always comparing Malcolm and his younger son, Freddie – Freddie was so good at sports, he was so clever and good at maths, everybody loved Freddie, he was so popular at school – Stuart had so enjoyed telling Henry how Malcolm had been selected for the Junior Mathematical Challenge team when Freddie hadn't. And the boy had a head for history to boot, could name every monarch in England from the middle ages from the age of eight, and had started to beat his father at chess over the summer as well, _without_ Stuart letting him win. But none of that could compare to Freddie, and if Stuart had to sit through one more dinner listening to Henry sing his son's praises and put down Malcolm, Stuart was going to scream.

And the sister was just the same, always finding someone else to blame for Jasper's ridiculous carry on and letting him bully and pester anyone he wanted. Stuart couldn't stand the lot, and her husband, Lord! It was as if her father had handpicked the perfect, moronic, Yes-Man to marry his daughter. But as Stuart's father pointed out they were old family friends, and _he_ couldn't be more delighted that Meredith and Jasper were together, so Stuart had to put up with them.

"A baseless enquiry," Mr. Thornton dismissed, "Ofsted has no real cause to look into the school, or Ms. Bardsley-Kemp."

Mr. Abney opened his mouth to reply, but a knock at the door had them all turn their heads at the same time as a woman in her thirties with jet black hair let herself in.

"So sorry," she said as she fetched one of the chairs in front of Mr. Abney's desk and brought it around next to him. "I had to finish up a call; took a lot longer than expected."

Mr. Abney introduced her as Claire Phelan, the office's legal aide. Mary felt the blood drain from her face; her father-in-law had insisted on bringing Mr. Thornton just to make him as familiar with the case as possible, and for a show of strength. But Mary didn't like him, he reminded her of all of Gordon's smarmy friends; she thought he was bound to just make a bad impression. But no, Gordon and Caroline said that since he'd already met Mr. Abney he would be useful. Stuart hadn't even bothered to try and argue, as usual. But what would they need with the office's solicitor? Mary did not like this at all.

"I asked Ms. Phelan to join us," Mr. Abney explained, as though he sensed Mary's unease, "So she could, um, explain the legal procedure this office has been following."

Which made neither Mary nor Stuart feel better.

"Which I've already done," Mr. Thornton replied, irritated, "Let me assure you, there is nothing my clients need to know that Ms. Phelan can tell them."

Ms. Phelan said nothing, just gave him a small half smile as she cocked her head to the side. Stuart did not like how confident she seemed, sitting in that office chair as if it was a throne, lounging almost. No, Stuart did not like her one bit.

"Mr. Thornton was just explaining how the Ofsted investigation is completely pointless," Mr. Abney told her.

"Oh, yes, except for the mysteriously damaged CCTV footage; not to mention the mysteriously damaged medical records of several pupils," Ms. Phelan replied as she crossed her legs.

"Really, what would you expect it to show?" Mr. Thornton asked with a disbelieving laugh.

"How Malcolm broke his collar bone of May last year," Ms. Phelan asked rhetorically, "How he dislocated his shoulder last December; he's had umpteen black eyes, and split lips, his nose has been broken twice –"

Mr. Thornton scoffed. "Do you know how often that child gets into fights at school? Not only that, starts them?"

"Malcolm would never!"

Mary glared at Mr. Thornton, aghast. "He's such a mild mannered little boy, he wouldn't say boo to a goose."

"And the school never said anything about any major fracas with his classmates," Stuart added, "Some minor scuffles, perhaps, but nothing serious; all boys get into a bit of a scrap every now and again, there's nothing odd about that."

But they both had a feeling like squirming snakes had settled in their stomachs. Corinne, and now Archie, were the emergency contacts, but the school was still supposed to inform them of what the children were getting up to – Mary received monthly reports from them, for goodness sake, and would read it out to Stuart when they spoke – and they'd been told nothing of the sort! This didn't look good; this did not look good, at all.

"When she was still acting as emergency contact, Corinne, she never once, never once mentioned having to take Malcolm to the hospital?" Mr. Abney asked.

"She was just being over cautious," Mary insisted desperately, feeling her heart jackhammering in her throat and an odd sensation as if ants were crawling all over her skin. "I always called the school after I spoke to her, and they always told me that he was fine!"

"Can you think of any specific incidents that Corinne told you about?" Ms. Phelan asked, her demeaner becoming softer and kinder when she addressed Mary. "Where you were given different stories from her and the school?"

"We're not here to talk about the school," Mr. Thornton cut off whatever Mary had been about to say. Stuart wanted to box his ears for daring to interrupt his wife; but he just clenched his teeth, and held his tongue. "The focus of this entire debacle is Meredith; I would appreciate if you both could stay on track."

Ms. Phelan raised her eyebrows as her attention switched back to Mr. Thornton. "The school covering up Meredith and Jasper hurting Malcolm from everyone including his parents? I think that is quite the point, wouldn't you agree Richard?"

"Please, you're not basing your entire case on that?" Mr. Thornton ridiculed, "You believe the school is hiding something, so therefore it _must_ be that Meredith is abusing her brother?"

"Do you have an explanation for his injuries?" Ms. Phelan replied calmly.

"What injuries?" Mr. Thornton scoffed, "Let me guess, this is from a list Finlay, or Nell, or Mae gave you is that right?"

Ms. Phelan silently leveled her gaze on him, not speaking for a moment. Stuart got the impression that she was counting to ten. "Mr. Abney received a call from DCI Green after speaking with your brother; we had his medical records from the HAS as well as the school within the hour. Probably why they escaped whatever fate befell all those other records that mysteriously vanished from the school. Oddly enough, when Ofsted had a look at Malcolm's medical records, they didn't match what we have."

"I want to see his medical records," Stuart demanded, his heart thudding in his throat. He subtly wiped an increasingly sweaty hand on the armrest, before clenching it again. He'd been assured that he'd be getting on a transport home with his children; _all_ of his children. And _now_ , apparently, Malcolm was being battered without his knowledge! His father said something, every now and again, about Malcolm having a bit of a dust-up with one of his classmates – the old goat seemed delighted about it, saying it was going to toughen Malcolm up good and proper; teach him to fight back, a few bruises were nothing.

"Mr. Thornton received a list and details of injuries and incidents that we felt were suspect," Mr. Abney told him. "I would have supposed, that, that, that you would have seen them already."

Stuart clenched his teeth so hard that he thought he definitely heard a crack that time; he felt the heat in his face and neck, and knew he was going bright red. No, he had seen no such thing. And he hoped Mary hadn't either and just 'forgot' to tell him. Wouldn't be the first time, certainly…

"No," he said through gritted teeth. He forced himself back under control. "Meredith apparently forcing Malcolm to drink milk was all that we were made aware of."

"What about what Corinne told _you_ , Mrs. Reed?" Ms. Phelan questioned her, softly.

"She was always exaggerating," Mary said desperately, "She had a tendency to dramatize everything, I mean honestly, you should have heard her talk; she'd never give a straight answer when embellishments would do, I mean, I could never, I could never –" she stopped and gulped shakily and her voice had a noticeable quiver, "She was so boisterous and, and everything she said was so animated, it was just too much –"

"Hearsay from an unreliable source," Mr. Thornton interjected, "A dead source at that, who conveniently can't be called as witness."

"We have Malcolm's medical records –" Ms. Phelan began.

"Medical records of a child known for brawling with his classmates," Mr. Thornton shrugged, smirking, "Where do you think he received those injuries?"

"Injuries you just said he never received," Ms. Phelan responded lightly, "You _were_ just claiming that his aunt is an unreliable source?"

"Of course, I wouldn't exactly call a histrionic woman with a flair for the dramatic reliable. And who probably fabricated those records in the first place," Mr. Thornton scoffed, "The woman was a _nurse_. She'd easily gain access to them."

"Without leaving a trace?" Ms. Phelan asked in disbelief, "Every time the system is accessed the user is logged. And before you ask, we already checked. Did she ask her colleagues to commit fraud on her behalf?"

"Do you have my son's medical records, or not?" Stuart angrily snapped. He turned on Mr. Thornton, "And you shut your damn mouth, I won't hear another word against Corinne. The woman is dead, for goodness sake."

This was too much; far too much. Stuart gave Mary's hand another squeeze, intertwining his fingers with hers.

Mr. Abney obliged, but first warned them that it was going to be upsetting, then handed them the records, letting the two of them peruse them for a few moments. Mary was quite sure she was going to be ill. Black eyes, broken bones, trips to the school infirmary for allergies and asthma attacks, several of which ended up putting him in the hospital… and she couldn't even remember half of them! She certainly hadn't been told about them.

"Can, can we have a moment?" Stuart requested shakily, still not taking his eyes off of them. He thought he was going to pass out.

"Of course," Mr. Abney replied, "But first I think you should know something else: you're sister-in-law, Corinne, was making detailed records of how Malcolm received those injuries."

Silence.

Nobody said anything for a long moment after that. Nobody said anything still, as Mr. Abney rose to his feet and strode over to a filing cabinet next to his desk. They were still silent as he pulled out a large stack of files from that filing cabinet. Stuart chanced a look at Mr. Thornton; the pinched look on his face, as though he'd just sucked on a lemon, did not comfort him. Holding them securely in his hands Mr. Abney returned, plopping the files heavily down onto the coffee table in front of Mary. He told them that it might be a good idea for them to have a look at the contents of it as well.

"Your mother, Lieutenant, removed it from Archie's house shortly after the funeral; Archie found it and brought it to me just yesterday. There are a quite a few photographs of Malcolm; it's not very nice to look at, at I'm afraid."

Stuart and Mary stared at the stack of files; there was a ringing in Mary's ears. "I'm sorry, what are those?" she asked unsteadily, "What are they meant to be, ex-exactly?"

Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan exchanged a glance. Mr. Abney explained again what they were, that since March of last year both Corinne and Archie had been documenting the injuries Malcolm had received up until Corinne's death in February: from Meredith, from Jasper, from other students in the school. Mary just stared at the stack of files. She could vaguely make out Mr. Thornton arguing that Corinne could have coerced Malcolm into pointing the finger at Meredith and Jasper, and then her husband reiterating the request for some privacy.

"You can take that away," Ms. Phelan told Mr. Thornton, as she and Mr. Abney exited the office to give them some time, first pausing the recording equipment. "We have the originals; I am of course keeping my promise to give you any relevant information to your defense." She smiled pleasantly at him.

As soon as the door shut behind them Stuart dove at the stack, grabbing the top file. In it was photographs of Malcolm; the photographs were stapled to photocopies of a handwritten statements, that Stuart recognised as Archie's handwriting. Others – most – he didn't recognise, but figured that it must be Corinne's hand. Some of the statements didn't have a photograph attached, and just described Meredith locking Malcolm in store cupboards, or stealing his uniform, or destroying his schoolbooks and having Malcolm take the blame.

And the photographs… Malcolm with a black eye; Malcolm with a bruised cheek; Malcolm with a split lip, or a cut on his forehead, or a bloody nose. In one, Malcolm was standing, shirtless, bruises covering his torso. In another he was holding his arm to the camera, three large, angry, red welts covering the back of his forearm. Stuart read the statement that was attached to that photograph.

_03.10.35 Corinne picked up the children from school on Friday; after dinner she checked Malcolm for injuries and found three raised, circular wounds on his left forearm. He said William and Tim held his arm on top of one of the outdoor lunch tables in the school, while Meredith and Jasper took turns taking aim with a slingshot that the two had made. They wanted to test its power at close range. It did not break the skin. They were going to test long range as well, but the bell rang and after school Malcolm ran to find Finlay as fast as possible. He didn't want to tell us what happened and became very surly when we wouldn't let it go. He got very angry and threw the camera across the room, but we talked him down and he then started to cry and told us. *Update 10.09.35: Malcolm's arm has started to bruise, and there is pain when he extends his wrist and fingers. His arm was very stiff when he woke up this morning._

There was another photograph behind the first; same arm, but the welts were less angry looking and were beginning to be surrounded by deep purple and black bruises. Another set of photographs, from September last year, and the description attached wasn't much better – Malcolm, his face red and puffy, his swollen tongue peeping from his mouth. He was clearly lying in a hospital bed.

_03.09.35 Meredith switched out the ice-cream at Malcolm's birthday party. Archie found the dairy free one I got in the trash out back. I didn't see her do it, but it's not like anyone else would of._

"Mary," Stuart said warily. "What did you know about this? Mary?"

But Mary was mute. She'd been reading the same single statement, the paper shaking in her hands as she stared at it, crumpling the edges in her fists. Stuart had skimmed through several in the same time, while Mr. Thornton had been flicking through another file. She didn't seem like she'd heard Stuart at all. Wordlessly, she shoved the statement at Stuart, keeping the photographs.

_30.03.35 Stuart took Malcolm camping for the Easter vacation. Meredith was waiting in his dormitory when he returned and took him out to the nature walk in the wooded area at the back of the school, telling him that she wanted to go for a walk with him because she missed him. Her boyfriend Jasper, and their friends Dora, William, and Tim, were waiting there for them. They held Malcolm down and stuffed a scarf into his mouth while Meredith used a pocketknife to cut the word 'faggot' into Malcolm's right forearm. They kept him in the woods until curfew, and then they let him return to his dorm. I had just dropped Rory off at school when I got a call from Finlay, and met with the Headmistress, the secretary, and Malcolm's Year Head at the entrance who tried to block me from entering the school. They threatened to call the police on me, but Finlay had gotten out of the school through one of the back doors and brought Malcolm around that way. I took the two of them home, and did get a visit from the police that evening, but I had all the documentation that states that I am a Delegated Authority and that I am perfectly capable of taking the children out of school if necessary. I'd already spoken to Archie and sent him photographs. He'll be home in a few weeks, but doesn't want me to go to the police without enough evidence._

Stuart slowly looked around to Mary, who was now clutching two photographs in her lap, her chest heaving as she took in deep gasping breaths. Her eyes were filling with tears as she passed the now crumpled photograph to Stuart. He straightened out the first one, his hands now starting to shake.

It was Malcolm, staring blankly into the camera and looking paler than usual. Stuart didn't even notice what had Mary so upset, he was so focused on Malcolm's face – a lump in his throat was forming at the hollow look in his boy's eyes; his lips were cracked as if he was dehydrated, and his eyes red as though he'd recently been crying. Stuart gave himself a little shake. He then noticed that Malcolm was holding his arm out; his right elbow was bent in at the side as he turned his arm to show a series of deep cuts on the inside; straight lines that seemed to be in some sort of pattern that Stuart couldn't quite make out.

The next photograph was a close up of his arm; and Stuart could make out what the pattern of slashes were. He roughly thrust the photographs at Mr. Thornton.

"This-this doesn't mean that Meredith had anything to do with it," Mary insisted desperately, turning to Stuart with too bright eyes; she gestured at the statement, "Malcolm didn't write that, those aren't _his_ words…"

Stuart took both of Mary's hands in his. "Listen to me, listen, we can – we can… we'll talk to Malcolm, that's what we'll do, alright? We can get this all straightened out, alright?"

"It's still Mrs. Danvers's word against Meredith," Mr. Thornton told them.

"Then who is doing this to my son?" Stuart barked, "And don't say he's a clumsy child!"

Mr. Thornton just stared evenly back at him. "Is there any proof that Malcolm has come to any harm in the months since her death?"

"What?" Stuart snapped, "What are you on about?"

Mr. Thornton shrugged. "Have you ever heard of Munchausen syndrome?"

Mary snapped her head around to him, her tear filled eyes furious. "You can't be serious," she hissed.

Stuart looked between the two. "What are you two talking about," he asked roughly.

"He thinks Corinne was the one hurting Malcolm." Mary glared at Mr. Thornton. "For attention."

"It's either Meredith, or Mrs. Danvers," Mr. Thornton replied smoothly, placing the photo of Malcolm's arm in front of Stuart. "Who do you think the more likely? Your daughter, who is a model pupil, popular with her peers, a charming girl by all accounts; or Mrs. Danvers, who by all accounts was overdramatic and did everything she could to be the centre of attention. No point in charging a dead woman; the Crown Prosecutor should be happy with that."

Stuart and Mary exchanged a glance. "Charges?" Mary asked, "What charges?"

"Grievous bodily harm, for one," Mr. Thornton explained as calmly as he would penalty points on your driving license. He pointed at the close up of Malcolm's arm, " _That_ for example, and a few other incidents. _And_ coercive control spanning the last two years, under the Domestic Abuse Act: Abney is claiming that she's pushed, kicked, pinched, etc. etc., not to mention threats, verbal abuse; they have the quite the portfolio."

" _Quite the portfolio_ ," Stuart repeated in a dangerous voice, "You knew all of this?!"

Mr. Thornton met his gaze and didn't flinch. "I needed you to play the part of the shocked, and appalled, and completely innocent parents. I've been in close contact with your parents, Lieutenant, and your father instructed –"

"You had no right to keep any of this from us, I don't give a damn what my father instructed you to do!"

"You're talking about our children," Mary snapped, her blood beginning to boil. "All I knew was that social worker was looking at Meredith forcing Malcolm to drink some bleeding milk! No one said anything about any charges!"

"I know this is upsetting," Mr. Thornton said, as though he was speaking to two very slow, easily upset children, "But Meredith's entire future is at stake –"

Mary scoffed. "Gordon and Caroline's reputations, you mean."

"Mary!"

"Oh, don't start, Stuart!" She eyed him dangerously; even with red rimmed eyes her anger was obvious. "That's exactly what this is about; he's not here for Meredith, he's only here to protect your parents!"

Mr. Thornton absently mindedly picked some invisible fluff from his pants leg. "And seeing as Meredith's deficiencies are a direct reflection of your father, he is highly invested in her getting off scot free." He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the armrest of his chair. "Let me be candid here: they want to arrest Meredith for this, and they can lay out the evidence in such a way that she could be put away for a very long time, along with her little friends, so let's be quick, shall we? Now, Mrs. Danvers most certainly didn't do this, but she's dead and the dead can't defend themselves, and like I said: it's her or Meredith."

_Meredith or Corinne…_

"And... and how do you plan to shift the blame onto Corinne?" Stuart asked slowly.

"They have nothing from the school," Mr. Thornton told them with a casual shrug, "The records have been altered or lost, meaning they don't match Mrs. Danvers's, or the ones Abney has; the teachers can testify that the woman was a nuisance, always looking for an argument over her little darlings; they're also prepared to speak on Meredith's behalf, about what a charming girl she is, and what a pleasure she is to have in the school. Contrary to her cousins, who always seem to be getting into trouble of some kind or another; quite frankly, it might not have been a good idea on either your part or your brother Harold's to let them spend so much time with Mrs. Danvers over the years. Every weekend is a bit much after all; good thing Meredith was sheltered from her influence by her grandparents, who, as it turns out, Mrs. Danvers was also trying to besmirch."

"But we don't _need_ to shift the blame onto Corinne," Mary said desperately, "Because Meredith didn't do this, she wouldn't… she wouldn't."

"Are you sure she never said anything about any of these," Mr. Thornton waved a hand at the files, "About any of them?"

"She told me that she was bullying him, but I always phoned the school after and they said that everything was fine," Mary said desperately, "And Malcolm never said anything, anything at all!"

"I don't think we have a choice, Mary," Stuart said, quietly.

"But Meredith hasn't done anything wrong!" Mary insisted, "This is barbaric, she would never!" Her voice broke. "She would never…"

"But they think she has," Mr. Thornton explained calmly, "And they have all the work done for them, why bother trying to get to bottom of Malcolm's injuries when they can wrap this up in a bow and call it a victory."

"They're not interested in the true culprit," he continued, "They want to seem as if their office is actually helping a 'troubled family', another feather in their cap."

He fell silent as they took everything in. What he was saying made sense to them; of course Meredith could never do this, and they didn't think Corinne would either, that Munchausen syndrome was preposterous, but if the proper authorities weren't even going to bother to look for whoever was actually hurting their boy, whoever had frightened him so much that he wasn't even _speaking,_ well then, they didn't see what choice they had.

"I don't want either of you to worry about a thing," Mr. Thornton told them, pleased they were coming around. "Now, my firm is looking into finding old friends of your brother's, who can attest that they always found Mrs. Danvers argumentative and quarrelsome; not to mention your brother's bizarre behaviour since her death; and do you get along with your wife's side of the family, Lieutenant? No, I didn't think so. And now that I have everything they have," he gestured to the stack of files on the coffee table, "There shouldn't be any more nasty surprises."

He got up to call Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan back in, and they made sure that the Reeds understood the entire procedure, and exactly what would be happening next before they decided to call it a day. They hadn't been to the school yet, coming straight there from the airport, and they were eager to see Meredith and Madeline. Malcolm they still couldn't see without either Mr. Abney or his colleague, a Ms. Autié, present, and they were anxious to arrange something and quick.

Mary and Stuart were numb as they climbed into Mr. Thornton's auto, a sleek, black, BGW. Meredith could be arrested for assault. _Arrested_. Malcolm was in Archie's custody until after the trial, unless Harold or anyone on Mary's side wanted to throw their hat in the ring. And the local child services back home would be speaking with them, and inspecting the house, and making sure they were capable of looking after their children's needs. No one had mentioned Madeline, and honestly, they had been afraid to ask. It was a completely silent ride to the hotel.

As soon as they reached their hotel room, having declined to stay with Stuart's parents, Mary started talking about making arrangements to take Madeline home with them and enroll her in the local secondary school, that would be fine, it was a Tamil school, she was fluent from when they'd lived in Sri Lanka, and both her and Malcolm had gone to that primary school, so that would suit them, they knew the other pupils in the year already, and then Malcolm could join her in September when they got custody back, they could sort things on that front, and everything would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine –

Stuart just sat on the end of the bed, not saying anything, his shoulders slumped forward, barely listening as Mary made her plans, and called a taxi to take them to the school once it finished in a couple of hours. Mary washed her face, fixed her makeup, and changed into clothes more suitable for winter in Leicester than in Bagan Datoh.

"Taxi will be here at fifteen forty-five, on the dot," she said, aimlessly bustling around the room. It was giving the appearance as if she was tidying, but all she was doing was picking things up, putting them down, and wiping away imaginary dust. Stuart still hadn't moved. "Meredith could go to Kuala Bernam as well, she did all of her primary education in Negombo, I'm sure she remembers enough Tamil, but the International School would do fine, it's only twenty minutes away on the tram… Stuart? Darling, are you listening to me?"

But Stuart was still just staring at the floor. Mary slowly walked over and sat next to him on the bed, gently taking his hand. With a great shuddering breath, he covered his face with his free hand as his shoulder began to shake.

They both just sat there, not speaking, until the taxi to take them to Oakham arrived.

* * *

"I need to speak to Madeline." Mr. Abney turned to Claire as soon as his office door shut behind the Reeds. "Today, before they influence what she says. Could you convince the District Judge to let me speak to her without her parents' permission?"

Claire just smirked at him. "What do you think that phone call was? She'll be here in twenty minutes."


	16. Madeline

At first, Mr. Abney thought Yvonne brought back the wrong girl. The child she led into his office was wearing the same Oakham uniform Nell and Mae had been wearing, with a black and purple striped tie and small purple pin on her black blazer. But she was taller than Malcolm by three or four inches, didn't have the same pinched look about her, and was as fair as Malcolm was dark, her hair cascading past her waist. She was fixing a rainbow coloured butterfly hair clip as she came in and straightened herself once she saw Mr. Abney.

She strode purposefully passed Yvonne and over to Mr. Abney; she came to a stop in front of him and stuck out her hand, introducing herself, "Madeline Reed, how do you do?"

Mr. Abney glanced up at Yvonne, her arms crossed as she stood in the doorway, and exchanged an amused glance. A fond smirk crossed Yvonne's face as he took the hand of a twelve year old girl with an earnest look on her face and who only came up to his chin. "Pleasure to meet you Madeline; my name's Richard."

He released her hand and gestured to the chairs behind her. She turned on her heel and sat down on the chair closer to the door, tucking her hands under her thighs and swinging her legs back, and forth, in unison. She fixed her butterfly clip again, before continuing to swing her legs back and forth.

"I like your hair clip." Mr. Abney followed her over, fighting back a smile. He sat down opposite her on the sofa next to the door. As soon as he did so, Madeline stopped swinging her legs and clasped her hands neatly in her lap, her ankles crossed beneath the chair. She reminded Mr. Abney of someone running through stage instructions; very precise, and purposeful, and a little bit exaggerated. He settled himself onto the sofa opposite her, relaxing into the chair. Yvonne continued to hover in the doorway and leaned against the frame.

"You, you need to stop messing about with my family," Madeline said resolutely, before Mr. Abney could even open his mouth to say anything. She was staring him straight in the eye, her own blue ones wide and her mouth tightly sealed shut.

"Is, is that what you think I'm doing?" Mr. Abney cocked his head to the side. "Messing with your family?"

"You're trying to break us all up, aren't you?" she shot back stiffly. And then as though remembering something added quickly, "You want everyone to know our business when it's none of yours. Our business is our business, not your dirty laundry to air."

Mr. Abney could see the resemblance better now: their eyes were the same shade and shape, ringed by stubby black eyelashes; same aquiline nose that suited Madeline but had appeared too prominent on Malcolm's haggard face. But where Madeline was assertive, Malcolm was timid, and had avoided looking him in the eye.

"I see," Mr. Abney replied, looking round at Yvonne, still in the doorway.

"Claire comes," she told him, and to Madeline, "Would you like some hot chocolate, _chaton_?"

"Tea, if you please."

"Milk and sugar?"

"No, thank you. Oh, milk," Madeline added quickly, "Strong, with a good drop of milk."

Yvonne smiled and nodded, glancing over her shoulder as Ms. Phelan swept passed her.

"Hello," Ms. Phelan said smilingly, "Are you Madeline?"

Madeline had hopped up at her entrance and thrust her arm straight out. Ms. Phelan was mildly startled, but took it none the less. Yvonne said she'd see about Madeline's tea, and gently shut the door behind her.

"How do you do," Madeline said as she shook Ms. Phelan's hand. It had an over exaggerated quality of a child not yet figured out how to do it without shaking someone's arm off. Mr. Abney thought it was cute. "Madeline Reed."

"This is Claire Phelan, the office's legal aide," Mr. Abney told her, as he fetched his recorder from his desk. He placed it on the coffee table between all of them, and hit 'record'. "She's here to make sure this interview runs smoothly, alright? Make sure you feel comfortable."

Mr. Abney gave his usual spiel, to start the interview, pointed out Ms. Phelan's presence, and then asked Madeline to introduce herself.

"Madeline Ivy Reed, my birthday is the twentieth of November, twenty-one twenty-four." Every word she spoke was deliberate and assertive; she was playing with her fingernails. "My older brother is Malcolm Gordon Reed, whose birthday is the second of September, twenty-one twenty-three, and my elder sister is Meredith Elsie Reed, twenty-eight of August, twenty-one twenty."

"Thank you very much," Mr. Abney said.

"And did Ms. Autié ask if you were okay coming to speak to us?" Ms. Phelan sat next to Madeline, leaning on the arm rest of her chair as she spoke to her.

"I thought I had to speak to you," Madeline replied smartly. "You're forcing everyone to speak to you."

Ms. Phelan replied evenly, "You don't have to speak to us if you don't want to. Do you understand that?"

Madeline nodded, just once.

"We just want to have a chat with you about your brother and sister," Mr. Abney told her, "Some of the questions I'm going to ask might be a bit upsetting, and we have to talk about some uncomfortable things today but like Claire said, you don't have to answer any questions that are too difficult. Is that all right?"

"I understand," Madeline said primly.

"First things first: do you know why Malcolm is staying at your uncle's house at the minute?"

"Because Archie took him away," she said flatly, "When he wasn't meant to, and now," she took a deep breath, "And now it's causing all sorts of bother."

"Do you know why Archie took him away?"

"Because he's making a mountain out of a molehill."

"Really?"

"It's just a storm in a teacup."

Mr. Abney paused. "But do you know why Archie took him home with him?"

"I just told you."

"Okay," Mr. Abney said slowly, "Have you had a chat with Malcolm about it?"

"He wants to go back to school," she replied mechanically, "He, he misses his friends." She scrunched up her skirt in her fists, before seeming to realise and smoothed it out again.

"Right," Mr. Abney said evenly, "I think it might be a good idea to explain exactly why we're all so worried, okay Madeline?"

"I know why," Madeline insisted.

"We're very worried," Mr. Abney continued, "That someone is hurting Malcolm; and has been for a very long time. Did you know he had to go to hospital a few weeks ago? This was the day your uncle took him home."

"He didn't need to go, he was fine." It was said in a rush, but with a slight tremble in her voice.

"Who told you he was fine?"

"The Admiral and Granny."

"They told you Malcolm didn't really need to go to hospital?" Madeline nodded. "Did they tell you that Archie was making a mountain out of a molehill?"

"Um.."

"It's okay, Madeline," Mr. Abney said, "All I want is the truth, can you do that for me?"

"I _am_ telling the truth!" Madeline leaned forward, her eyes round. "I _am_. I wouldn't lie."

"I know," Mr. Abney replied evenly, "I know you are; shall I tell you what we think happened? We know that Malcolm had an allergic reaction to some milk. He can't eat any dairy, can he?"

Madeline shook her head. "He falls ill."

"So, so that's what happened a couple of weeks ago, Malcolm had a very bad allergic reaction to milk, and Uncle Archie had to bring him to hospital, and the next day, Uncle Archie brought him in to me."

"Just for his hypersensitivities," Madeline said. The way she did reminded Mr. Abney of her Granny.

"And for lots of other reasons. But the problem is, we think that Meredith and her boyfriend Jasper forced Malcolm to drink it."

"Meredith would never do such a thing," Madeline quickly shot back.

"There was someone else who saw her do it," Mr. Abney told her.

"An attention-seeking liar."

"Your Uncle Archie seems to believe that Meredith made Malcolm do it."

"Malcolm does silly things with food sometimes," Madeline replied, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "He went a week without eating once."

That was a surprise. "Why would he do that?"

Madeline looked puzzled. "I'm not entirely sure; I think he was trying to prove that he could."

"Prove to whom?"

"The Admir –" Madeline quickly closed her mouth.

"Why would Malcolm want to prove to the Admiral that he could go a week without eating?" Mr. Abney asked her. "Madeline? Why did he want to prove that to the Admiral?"

But Madeline wouldn't answer. And Ms. Phelan suggested that they move on.

"Alright, let's talk about Meredith, shall we? See, Archie told me that your elder sister can be a bit mean and a bit rough with him sometimes, and I wanted to get your opinion: do you think your sister can be a little bit mean to your brother?"

Madeline bit her lip and didn't answer. Mr. Abney didn't say anything, only waited. They all started as the door opened and Yvonne entered with Madeline's tea; she'd picked the unicorn cup.

"Here you are," she said, handing it to Madeline, "No sugar, and a drop of milk."

"Much obliged," Madeline said, seemingly grateful for the distraction. She took a small sip as Yvonne left, throwing an encouraging smile Mr. Abney's way as she turned. He returned the smile as a silent thank you. He knew she had a giant mug of caffeine waiting for her in her own office. She was exhausted; she'd stayed in the office late last night, poring over the recordings of the Reeds' and Campbells' interviews, highlighting any discrepancies they would need ironed out. He could tell this one was grating on her. He decided to take her and Claire out for dinner that evening – make sure they ate, and then actually went home.

"So as I was saying," Mr. Abney continued as soon as Yvonne shut the door, "Can your sister ever be a bit mean to your brother?"

Madeline glanced down to the side, as though trying to remember something. "Malcolm is very shy boy, he needs her to assist him in school," she replied eventually. Mr. Abney met Ms. Phelan's eyes.

"Need her, um, how?"

"He has special needs," she said, "He needs extra looking after. He's rather difficult to look after, because, because he gets very upset rather easily and has the _wildest_ imagination."

Mr. Abney nodded slowly. "Malcolm is easily upset, I see. Do you know what sorts of things upset him?"

"What sorts of things?" Madeline repeated. She was visibly struggling to find an answer. "He, um, he doesn't like when people… when they touch his drawings! No, he doesn't like that at all." She shook her head.

"Does he let you touch his drawings?" She replied yes. "What about when Meredith touches his pictures? Does he mind that?" She hesitated. "Madeline?" She wasn't going to answer. "Your Mum taught Malcolm to draw, didn't she?"

"Yes, she used to be a teacher. She stopped when Mer came along."

"Do you draw?"

"Oh, I used to but not anymore." She casually waved a hand, dismissing an old childish hobby. "I have other interests now."

Mr. Abney nodded. "Different interests as you get older, I suppose. Now, when I spoke to Malcolm he said that she rips up what he draws if your mother says that she likes it."

Madeline didn't say anything. "I've never seen her do that," she replied eventually.

Mr. Abney bit his bottom lip before asking gently, "Does your mother like what Malcolm draws?" A nod. "What does she say about some of the things you draw?"

"I don't draw anymore," she replied brusquely.

"Is that because of what your mother says about your drawings?" Madeline pressed her lips tightly together. "Malcolm told me that he won't show your parents his drawings anymore because your mother makes you and Meredith feel bad about it."

"Malcolm's good at drawing," she said with forced nonchalance, "He's quite talented."

"But is Malcolm correct?" Mr. Abney gently pressed, "Does your mother ever make you feel upset over the drawings?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "You can't be good at everything."

"That's, that's very true," Mr. Abney said softly, glancing at Ms. Phelan. "No one can be good at everything they try; but I'm asking about how it makes you _feel_."

Madeline looked round at Ms. Phelan in the chair beside her. "Do I have to answer that?"

"No," Ms. Phelan shook her head, "You don't have to answer anything you don't feel comfortable to." She looked up at Mr. Abney. "Move on perhaps, Richard."

Madeline glanced warily at Mr. Abney out of the corner of her eye.

"Of course, of course; but just to clarify: Meredith doesn't ever rip up Malcolm's pictures when she's cross with him?"

Madeline looked like she was fighting an internal battle. "He doesn't like those pictures," she said quickly.

"He doesn't like the ones Meredith rips up?"

"She's only helping him to clear out the clutter," Madeline said, "One wouldn't want to keep everything, or else there would be too much. Meredith is very helpful to Malcolm; I don't think he could get by without her."

Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan exchanged another glance. She was quite strongly giving them the impression of having been coached by someone on what to say.

"Madeline, you said you had other interests? Could you tell me about some of them, perhaps?"

She was eager to change the subject and to his amusement started talking animatedly about how she was the president of her House's book club, and described to him how the imagery in _Anne of Green Gables_ reflected the overarching theme of hope and new beginnings for the plucky orphan. She also went to the Junior Science Club, and started telling Mr. Abney all about the chemistry experiments on gas density they had been running for the last week. As she spoke, Mr. Abney could tell that she was largely regurgitating what she'd heard about imagery and about density, though she was certainly enthusiastic about it all. Along with Malcolm, she was on the chess team –

"And it's _terribly_ annoying when Malcolm lets me win," she said, putting now empty teacup onto the coffee table, "He's probably one of the best in his year; I should know, we always play against one another."

"Is there anyone else that you like to play against?" Mr. Abney asked, holding the plate of Hobnobs out to her. She plucked one off the plate. "In the club, I, I mean?"

"Oh, I play against almost everyone," she replied breezily.

"And Malcolm?"

"Only me, really. Oh, and his online friends."

"Doesn't anyone want to play with him in the club?"

Madeline opened her mouth a couple of times like a goldfish. "He, um, we have the same friends."

"So you two spend quite some time together?"

"We play in the playground after school, and we look after the same little plot in the vegetable garden."

"You're both quite close in age, it must be nice to always have a pal around."

"We get along swimmingly," Madeline said with a smile and sounding as fond of that fact as her maternal grandmother.

"Is it nice to have your big brother looking after you?"

"I look after him," Madeline quickly corrected, with a look that said Mr. Abney was mad for suggesting otherwise.

"Callum said he wouldn't have any friends if, uh, if it wasn't for you."

"Callum likes to make up stories," Madeline replied stiffly, "He has a rather vivid imagination and likes to exaggerate."

Mr. Abney nodded slowly. "And how do the two of you get along with Meredith?"

"Oh, we all get along just wonderfully," Madeline said with a nervous laugh, "She's very attentive to us; always helps us with our homework; she takes us to the cinema some Fridays; she's a very good elder sister, all in all."

"Is she?" Mr. Abney asked, "Malcolm said she made fun of what he draws."

Madeline was visibly unhappy with the change back to the previous topic. "All siblings take the mickey sometimes. There's nothing unusual about that."

Mr. Abney said nothing for a moment, thinking things through. He leaned forward, resting once arm on his knees and said, "Madeline, are you being completely honest with me?"

"Of course I am," she said abruptly. "I have nothing to lie about."

"But the thing is, your cousins have all been telling me some very different stories. About Meredith, and your grandparents." Madeline's eyes went wide and she paled noticeably but she made no reply. "I can see you're nervous; can I ask you what you're afraid will happen if you tell me everything?"

"I'm not afraid of anything," she said automatically, "There's nothing to tell that will get my family in trouble."

"Right," Mr. Abney said, "Madeline, here's the thing: I've not just been speaking to your cousins, I've also been speaking with your uncles, and your Aunt Tessa, Aunt Sherry, and your mother's parents as well. They've all told me some of the things that Meredith has done to your brother, particularly your cousins; I've had a look at all the times Malcolm has been brought to the hospital – he's had a lot of injuries, hasn't he?"

"He's a very clumsy child," Madeline said shakily; her hands were screwed up into fists so tight that her knuckles had turned white.

"I know what Meredith has done," Mr. Abney told her gently, "I know that she and her friends are the ones hurting Malcolm; why don't you want to tell me what's going on? What did your grandparents tell you would happen if you spoke to me?"

Mr. Abney could see Madeline's chin beginning to wobble; her eyes were becoming very round and bright. "All I want to do is keep Malcolm safe; and you, and your sister, and all of your cousins. That's all, alright? But I need you to tell me what she's doing to him. I need your help to keep Malcolm safe."

Madeline opened her mouth to reply; instead she burst into tears.

Loud, messy tears, that caused her breath to hitch and wheeze as the tears spilled over her cheeks; she scrunched up her face and stared at her lap as her shoulders trembled and a couple of stray drops fell from her cheeks. She roughly wiped at her eyes and nose with her sleeve and continued to sob.

"Oh dear, it's all right." Ms. Phelan got up, and knelt next to Madeline, holding her hand and rubbing arm. Mr. Abney got up to fetch the box of tissues on his desk; he handed one to Madeline and put the box on the table in front of her within easy reach. Her face had become flushed and she loudly blew her nose.

"This is all very scary and confusing, I know," Mr. Abney said kindly as he sat down again, "It is so much to deal with; and what we want to do is to give your family the help that it needs, that's all we want to do."

"But you're going to send us away," Madeline howled.

"Send who away?" Ms. Phelan asked confused.

"Me and Mal and Mer," Madeline sniveled, looking at her, "And we're never going to see going to see our Mum and Dad again!"

"Who told you we were going to take you away from your parents?" Mr. Abney asked furrowing his brow in confusion.

Madeline hesitated before answering in a mumble, "Granny did."

"Madeline, we're not going to take you away from your parents," Ms. Phelan explained. _Ugh, why didn't they extend the protection order to include her? Horrid woman._ "Alright? We have no plans to do that at the moment."

"What our job is," Mr. Abney said, "Is to help families cope with any problems they're having; Meredith seems to get upset very easily and then take it out on Malcolm, am I right?" Madeline nodded miserably. "We just want to help her find better ways to cope when she gets angry; and we want to help you parents as well, not just take you away from them."

"We're going to do what we can to keep you all together, understand?" Ms. Phelan said, giving Madeline's hand a squeeze. "As much as that is possible, alright?"

More tears as Madeline nodded her head. "I don't want to go to jail, either," she blubbered.

Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan exchanged another glance. "Why would you go to jail?" Ms. Phelan asked her bewildered.

"For lying!" she replied, "Perjury is illegal."

Mr. Abney repressed an annoyed sigh. "Did your Granny tell you that as well?" he asked softly. He repressed another one when Madeline nodded her head.

"You're not in trouble here, Madeline," Ms. Phelan said, "Not even a little bit. And nothing you tell us is going to get you into trouble – not a thing."

"You've not done anything wrong," Mr. Abney said, "And speaking to us, it isn't wrong either – like I already told you, all we want to do is to help you and your family. That's all, alright?"

It took a little while for Madeline to calm down, and assure her that no, she wasn't going to go to prison for lying to Mr. Abney and Ms. Phelan; no, she and her siblings weren't going to be taken away from their parents and never seen them or each other again; no, she wasn't going to be taken away from Malcolm, and he most certainly wasn't going to be locked up in a psychiatric hospital for damaged children for the rest of his natural life. In the meantime, Mr. Abney had asked Chris to get her some hot chocolate with marshmallows – she'd said that she would prefer that to another cup of tea. Chris did so, and found Madeline and Mr. Abney were playing a game of Connect Four, having decided to take a quick break. They started up a new game as Madeline fished out a mini-marshmallow with her finger and popped it into her mouth.

"Drat," Mr. Abney said, as Madeline blocked him off with a red counter. He placed another one in, trying to start a new row. "Do you ever play this game with Malcolm?"

"We play chess more," Madeline said, intent on the game, "And cards; I'm better at poker than he is, but he's better at Snap." Madeline placed her yellow counter in the frame and won.

"And you seem to be better than me at this." Mr. Abney smiled at her, "Another game?"

Madeline opened the latch and the counters clattered onto the table with some spilling onto the floor, and started dividing them up. "Meredith pushed him down the stairs once."

She said it in a mumble; she continued to separate the counters. "It was over Christmas when they came home from school."

"Was Malcolm badly hurt?"

"He landed funny on his ankle and broke it. And his wrist."

"Did you see her push him?" Madeline nodded. "Did you tell your parents?"

Madeline glanced up for a brief moment. "They didn't believe me; they never believe us. Meredith said it was just an accident."

"Sometimes it can be difficult for Mums and Dads to believe that they're children are doing something wrong," Mr. Abney said, stacking up the counters that Madeline pushed towards him, "And it can be difficult to convince them. But I believe you; I know that Malcolm did actually break his left ankle and right wrist in December two years ago. Do you remember why Meredith pushed him?"

"Dad took him and not her to lunch on Boxing Day."

"She was upset over not going with him?"

Madeline tipped her hot chocolate to her mouth and tried to get a glob of melted marshmallow with her tongue. "She was crying and screaming at Mum once Dad left and didn't stop until he came home. I just went to Aunt Corinne's house on my bike."

"Do you remember what she was saying?" Mr. Abney asked, putting a red counter next to the yellow one Madeline dropped in.

"Something about it not being fair." Madeline shrugged, "He used to take her; Archie brings Finlay, and Harold doesn't bring anyone."

"Is this lunch with his side of the family?" Madeline nodded. "So, she pushed him down the stairs because she was upset she wasn't going that year. Can I, um, can I ask you about something that Finlay told me happened in September?"

"Okay."

"Did Meredith and her friends tie Malcolm to goalposts and leave him there over night?"

"They took his clothes as well," Madeline said, "Freddie was showing everyone in the playground pictures on his phone the next day."

"Freddie Bardsley-Kemp?" Madeline confirmed the same, and Mr. Abney made a note on the legal pad beside him to ask DCI Green to get Freddie's phone, as well as his brother Jasper's and Meredith's. "Do you know why they decided to tie him up?"

Madeline shrugged a shoulder. "He won the Summer Art Contest, and they told Mum; she was really chuffed when we spoke to her on Sunday and Meredith was really annoyed afterwards. She ripped up his painting."

Madeline confirmed most of what they suspected to Meredith's handiwork as hers: beatings, allergic reactions, spreading rumours; Madeline eventually admitted that Meredith tries to keep her from playing with the day boarders, but she largely ignores her and focuses on Malcolm. They all focus on Malcolm.

"He used to be ill all the time," she said, having lost interest in Connect Four, and was doodling on some paper that Mr. Abney had left beside her. He had his own page, and was working on drawing a dog – or maybe it was a duck. "He used to have to wear a mask for his asthma for a few minutes every day and breath in the gas it was making when he was little, and Mum and Dad would make Meredith mind him so he would keep it on."

"And what would they do if he took it off?"

"Mum would tell Meredith off."

"And Dad?"

"He just put it back on him and would watch him instead."

That seemed to be their homelife: Mum would tell off and criticize Meredith; Dad would focus on trying to instill the values and discipline of a Naval Officer in Malcolm; and unless Madeline behaved like a perfect young lady, polite and proper, she would get very little attention at all. And even then, she was very pointedly told to ask her much brighter elder siblings for help with exams and homework, and when she did well, it didn't matter – Meredith was praised for being so good and caring towards her younger sibling, and wasn't Malcolm so very clever when it came to maths?

"When was this?"

"I don't remember; before he got an inhaler."

According to his medical records, he stopped using a nebulizer and started using an inhaler when he was eight. "Does Meredith ever take his inhaler?"

"No," she replied, colouring in her drawing.

"Does the Admiral?"

"All the time," Madeline said, "He makes him run laps of their area until he's beasted and then won't give it to him. But we swapped them out. Can I have the blue?" They swapped colours. "Thank you."

"Swapped what out, sorry?"

"Malcolm has one for everyday that's brown, and one for emergencies that's blue," Madeline explained, "We swapped the cannisters out, and give the Admiral the blue one when he asks for it – but it has the everyday medicine in it. I sneak him the proper medicine when they can't see us. If I didn't he'd have to go to hospital."

She was much more mature than Malcolm was, Mr. Abney thought to himself; quite articulate, but he had to admit that she seemed tired and still very scared and unsure that she was doing the right thing. Every so often, he had to reassure her that telling them about everything their sister did to him, and what their Grandfather did to all her cousins, was going to keep them all safe. She didn't seem to care about what happened to her grandparents; she actually seemed to relish the possibility of them both going to prison. Meredith, on the other hand –

"What's going to happen to her?" she asked fearfully, looking on the verge of tears again.

"Well," Mr. Abney began, sitting back on the sofa, "She's going to have to attend a special group, aimed at young people who get in trouble. We're also going to need to separate her from Malcolm for a little bit, so she might have to have to live there for a while as well."

"So she's going to jail too," Madeline said, her voice cracking.

"It's not prison," Mr. Abney explained soothingly, "It's called a Youth Rehabilitation Centre; there'll be more, more counsellors there, than guards."

Madeline wasn't mollified; it still sounded like prison to her. Mr. Abney then turned the conversation her Aunt Corinne, and Madeline said that she missed her, but she knew Malcolm missed her more; he'd cried every night for a month after she'd died and had barely eaten anything. It made it worse that Callum wouldn't let him hang about his friends anymore, and sometimes even helped the others in their year mock and bully him. Madeline said that she didn't get along with him anymore either, because of it.

"She always got me the birthday cake I wanted," Madeline said, "Mum used to just make all three of us a Victorian Sponge, but Corinne got me a unicorn cake last year. And she always got one that was pineapple flavoured for Malcolm and was a wicked shape – it was Spongebob's house. Meredith only ever gets the Victorian Sponge Mum makes, 'cause her birthday's over the summer holidays. She hasn't had a proper party with her friends in years because we moved the Bagan Datoh when she started secondary. Corinne wanted to throw her a birthday/back-to-school party, but Meredith wouldn't let her. She used to not let the Admiral tell us off. Her and Archie used to be the best, but he's just sad all the time now."

"You don't think he's getting on okay?" Mr. Abney asked, drawing some clouds above is duck/dog.

Madeline shook her head. "No, not really. I think he might need some of your help as well."

 _Well_ , Mr. Abney thought, making eye contact with Claire, _he certainly wasn't the only one._


	17. Meredith

"I'm here to see Richard Abney, please."

Chris looked up from his paperwork; there was a teenaged girl standing in front of him, wearing an immaculately pressed school uniform, black hair in a neat French plait that reached her waist. Chris's eyes flicked to the school crest on her on her blazer – Oakham School. He was able to recognise the crest by this point.

The girl had her hands clasped neatly in front of her, peering at Chris expectantly. He noticed a vague resemblance to Malcolm, same high cheekbones, same wide forehead. "Richard is out at the moment," Chris told her politely. "Do you have an appointment?" He asked, even though he knew she didn't.

She replied evenly, "I'm sure he can fit me in."

Chris pointed her towards the chairs to his right, just outside Richard's office. She moved around Chris's large circular desk to take a seat, gracefully swinging her school bag onto the chair next to her. She then took off her black woollen overcoat and school scarf and folded them primly in her lap.

Chris liked his desk; it completely encompassed him, his files on every surface that was wasn't taken up by the printer, his keyboard, or his screen. There was a swing door on one side that Chris could lock – and since it wasn't low enough to climb over easily, Chris felt pretty protected in his little circle.

And since some families took issue with the social workers in the building, it was a feeling he liked to have.

He picked up his phone and dialled Richard. He picked up on the fourth ring.

"Richard, Meredith Reed is waiting here for you. No she doesn't have an appointment. How long do you think you'll be? Right. Oh, goodness. No, no, I'll let her know." He hung up and plastered a pleasant smile on his face as he turned to Meredith. "He's going to be a while, I'm afraid; he's after getting caught up."

"Do you know how long he'll be?" Meredith asked smoothly. Chris noted that unlike her brother and sister, her eyes were a dark brown. "I'll wait," she said, when Chris replied that he didn't. She turned her attention away from Chris, taking books out of her bag one at a time, and laying them on top of her coat on the seat next her. She crossed her ankles underneath her, back straight, and opened a notebook in her lap before selecting a textbook from the pile next to her and making a start on her homework.

She didn't say anything else to Chris the entire time she was there, only to turn down the offer of something to drink, to answer that "the school knows" where she was, and to make a one word reply as to what she was working on ("Maths."). She resolutely didn't look up from her work, except to politely and coolly ask where the loo was, and a brief glance up when she realised that Chris called her school to confirm, that yes, they knew where she was. After two hours of this, and long after Chris gave up any sense of civility, Richard finally returned to the office.

Chris inclined his head towards Meredith as he came in, jabbing his finger twice in her direction. He tried to wordlessly convey to Richard the sense of contempt he had been getting from her all afternoon but wasn't sure that it had worked. Even so, Richard nodded his head, and strode towards Meredith, who had been watching him silently. She'd already shut and put away her books as soon as Mr. Abney had stepped out of the lift and purposefully stood up, not taking her eyes off of Mr. Abney the entire time.

"Meredith Reed?" he asked, coming to a stop in front of her.

"How do you do," she nodded, stony faced, taking him in a single glance. Fifties, close cut white hair, good bit of weight around the middle, with square, frameless balanced on the end of his nose. Over one shoulder he carried a messenger bag, holding it in front of him with one hand clasped tightly on it. He pushed his glasses up his nose with the other.

"Very well, thank you," he replied. "And you?"

"Quite well," she replied. "May I come in to your office?"

"Of, of course," Mr. Abney replied. He fumbled with a set of keys form his pocket before unlocking the door and allowing her to step inside. "Please take a seat, I'll just be a moment," and he stepped back outside.

She stood in front of worn blue sofa, her school bag dangling from one hand and her coat draped over the other. There were toys everywhere, and she thought she could see bits and pieces missing from some of them; his pens were contained in a stupid little coffee cup on the desk next to a spider plant that was probably going to die soon; there were drawings all over the walls – seeing that, there was this ringing in her ears, and flinging her bag and coat in an armchair as she passed, she came to stand in front of the drawings. Yes, there, just above her head, three drawings of ships that she recognised as the ones Malcolm was currently practicing.

She scowled; typical – his drawings were all over their Nana and Da's house in Birmingham, he was _so_ talented, _so_ gifted, there was _nothing_ he couldn't do right. They used to be all over their own house as well – and their father would point them out to guests, telling them how Malcolm was _so_ artistic and _so_ clever, just like his mother, and then would take his favourites with him when he left on duty. And then the cheeky little sod blamed her for setting them alight! Mum just said light some candles, she hadn't said where to put them; Meredith honestly hadn't meant for the entire wall to catch on fire. Of course, she did remember thinking that she wouldn't particularly care of they did, and she did know it was a possibility, but that doesn't mean she actually _set them on fire_ –

"Found your brother's?"

Meredith whipped around, schooling her features into a neutral expression. Mr. Abney had just come back into the office, followed by a smartly dressed blonde woman that he introduced as Claire Phelan.

"Ms. Phelan is one of the Child Advocates attached to our team."

"I thought Ms. Phelan was your solicitor," Meredith replied smoothly, moving her bag to the floor and coat to her lap and taking a seat; she crossed her ankles neatly underneath her.

"After a fashion; my role here is to ensure the children we encounter have their legal rights respected," Ms. Phelan told her, taking the seat opposite her while Mr. Abney tidied his bag away and hung up his coat. "That involves both speaking on their behalf during hearings and to ensure that they're not forced to say or do anything they're not comfortable with while talking about what brought them here."

"I've asked her to sit in with us while we chat," Mr. Abney explained, starting to mess about with some recording equipment on the table in between them. He pushed his glasses up his nose again. "Is that alright with you?"

"Well, I'm not a child," Meredith said, resisting the urge to look her up and down. She hadn't been prepared for someone else to be in the room and clutched her coat closer to herself. "So I don't understand why she needs to be here; and if she is your solicitor, wouldn't she want me to incriminate myself? I don't see what use she'll be to me, if that's the case."

"That's a fair point," Ms. Phelan said with a nod, "But part of what we do here is to look after the welfare of all of the children involved, no matter what they're being accused of. During the interview process, my role to balance that out and ensure that one child is not being neglected in favour of another."

"Mr. Abney can't remain objective is what you're telling me."

"Not at all," said Ms. Phelan, "Only that it always helps to have a second set of eyes and ears open."

Meredith paused for a moment. "But aren't you going to use what I say against me? And the rest of my family? I feel rather picked on, to be frank."

There was no convincing her; she insisted that Ms. Phelan leave the room so she could speak to Mr. Abney alone. She knew that they would have no choice but to agree, she was sixteen after all. She didn't miss the look they exchanged as Ms. Phelan left the room, closing the door behind her with a snap. Mr. Abney sat in her vacated spot opposite Meredith. He smiled at her; Meredith did not return it.

"I, um, I don't know what your cousins told you about the process, but I do, do, do, tape the entire interview – just to make sure everything is above board."

Meredith's heart thumped in her chest – nobody had told her that; Finlay hadn't told her that. Nell, or Mae, or Madeline, hadn't told her that. Granted, all Finlay had told her was that Abney knew everything and that she was done for. He was trying to be a stupid prick, just trying to scare her. But the thought of this being recorded… "Who'll be able to hear it?"

"Only your family's solicitor – no one else."

"And he can then tell the rest of my family what I, and the rest of us, all said."

"He will be, be bound by –"

"You have met him, haven't you?" Meredith cut him off, more snappishly than she'd intended. "Neville? He's at all my Grandfather's parties, sniffing around him begging for scraps. If the Admiral wants something done, Neville gets it done. If he asks, he'll tell him – this won't be private."

Mr. Abney was silent for a moment, tilting his head to the side. "Does the Admiral finding out you're here today frighten you?"

Meredith could feel a stinging behind her eyes, but she was determined not to break eye contact with Mr. Abney. "He wouldn't be pleased," she said eventually. She was annoyed at herself to hear the slight break in her voice. She could feel her heart pounding a panicked rhythm in her chest at the thought of what he would say… of what her Grandmother would say…

"Meredith, there is a barring order in place that prevents your grandparents from having any contact with you or your cousins."

"They will find a way around that." Meredith sniffed almost inaudibly, forcing any stray tears away. She knew all about how her grandparents weren't to contact her – hadn't stopped either of them. Nothing would stop either of them. And if she were to tell this Abney fellow, then she knew that Neville would ensure that there would be no consequences and – _worse_ – ensure that he would still be able to call her, and write to her, and even see her whenever he liked. Which she didn't think was a problem, truly, but she needed to protect herself in this situation – and she wasn't going to be blamed for something her Grandparents did, and if Thornton honestly thought that they could successfully blame Corinne for this and get the rest of them off scot free… well, then he was a bigger idiot than Meredith already thought him.

"When was the last time they contacted you?" Mr. Abney asked her after a moment.

Meredith hesitated, but then drew her phone from her bag and opened her messages; she handed it to Mr. Abney without looking at him and tried to ignore the roiling feeling in her gut that was telling her that she was doing the wrong thing. He silently scrolled through the messages. His only reaction was a slight raise of his eyebrows as he read.

She tried to appear nonchalant, as if he was reading something completely benign, like her shopping list, or her homework, and not a very long text message from the Admiral that he'd sent to her on a burner, that she assumed Neville had procured for him, demanding that she ensures her regiment toe the line. And reminding her what was going to happen if she failed.

She knew that Granny had already convinced Madeline that she was going to prison for lying to Mr. Abney – which backfired as soon as Madeline had actually spoke to him and ended up telling all. Meredith was convinced that she was going to prison if she _didn't_ speak to Mr. Abney.

"Is he, is he, normally so threatening?"

"Yes," Meredith, "Usually." Beneath the folds of coat on her lap she scrunched the fabric up and released it, beginning to play with the seam.

"Your cousins told me he tends to call you names." Meredith nodded. "He does this when he's unhappy, with, with you. Can you tell me what he says?"

Reluctantly, Meredith told him. She tried to think about what her Grandfather would say about this; or how her Grandmother would give her that look, like she'd just smelled something nasty, or sucked on a lemon. She tried not to think of how proud he was of her when she brought home first place in the Dartmouth Royal Regatta over the summer; his approval when she got top marks on her GCSEs, which was not even afforded to Mae even though they received the exact same; Granny was always telling her how pretty she was, and how lucky she was to have such a slim figure, and how she must be driving all the boys insane.

They weren't all bad – but there was no telling any of her cousins that; they were so unfair towards their Grandparents; the fools didn't understand that they were just trying to give them the best chance in life.

Meredith knew; she understood that to survive in this world then you had to a thick skin and that if those idiots couldn't stand what their own Granny and Grandad threw at them, well then, they would never survive in the real world.

She also knew that she couldn't say any of that to Mr. Abney.

"They make me feel like I can't do anything right," Meredith said, "Everything has to be absolutely perfect or it's not good enough at all."

And she gave him all sorts of examples, and told him all sorts of stories, stories that she knew didn't make her Grandparents sound very good, even if they were true.

"He's constantly calling Malcolm a Navy cake, or, well," she paused, and continued in a lower voice, "An _arse-bandit_. Not that Malcolm is that way inclined, or anything," she added quickly, "But he just means to insult him, and he is a bit worried that Malcolm is going to turn out that way, to be quite honest." She was too, but she wasn't going to say it.

"Do you think he unfairly targets Malcolm?" Mr. Abney was jotting down everything she was saying, but the tape recorder had long since been switched off at Meredith's request.

"Definitely – wants to hammer it out of him. He's said as much."

"Do they ever make you feel unsafe?"

Meredith nodded, "They could lose the rag at any moment; over almost anything. Malcolm gets it the worst, though." Which is probably what her cousins had said, so Meredith thought it best to echo it.

"What do you parents think about this?"

Meredith scoffed involuntarily. Her parents? They couldn't care less; her father was only concerned with Malcolm, his _boy_ , and her mother wouldn't listen to anything that upset her perfect routine and her perfect plans. Everything was ship shape, or it was to be ignored. "It wouldn't really suit them to say anything."

"Why not?"

"It's easier for them to just let it go."

"Would they stand up to your Grandparents?"

"Probably agree with them." Unless the Admiral was having a go at Malcolm; then Dad might sigh, and ask him was this necessary, and then let him continue dressing him down, and perhaps give him a sweet later on once the Admiral was gone and say 'chin up' as if that fixed everything. That was the extent he stood up for them.

Mr. Abney nodded. "To be perfectly frank with you Meredith, I am deeply concerned, with, with, with what you, and the rest of your family have told me. Can you understand why?"

She nodded; she felt ill. "So, I would, I'd like to thank you for speaking with me, and sharing what's going on, with your, with your family. It is very brave of you Meredith, and I just want to assure you that you are doing the, the right thing."

She didn't say anything to that. "But I do have some more questions about some other incidents your cousins and siblings told me about."

"Alright," she said, as the knot in her gut tightened, "Ask away."

"They mainly concern Malcolm, and how you treat him in particular –"

"That's all Jasper," Meredith said quickly, "Not me."

Mr. Abney looked at her, his mouth slightly open in surprise at being cut off; Meredith thought he looked like a trout. "What exactly is 'all Jasper'?"

"Everything," she said earnestly, "He's horrid, and cruel, but I can't say anything against him, or end things with him, or else my Grandparents will have something to say about it, you can be sure."

"What does he do that makes you want to end things?"

"He treats Malcolm horrifically – always bashing him and humiliating him. He's ended up in the school Infirmary loads of times because of it."

"Can you give me an example?"

"He – he – he hits him, and pushes him; he's probably covered in bruises if you checked."

"And that's all Jasper?"

"It's his friends sometimes, but he's the ring leader."

"What else does Jasper do?"

"All sorts of things – he locks him up in store cupboards, nicks his things."

"I was told that you do that."

"I don't."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"Then why did all your cousins tell me otherwise?"

"Because they're out to get me – Finlay hates me, and the others will do anything he tells them to."

"Including making up lies?"

"Obviously," Meredith replied with a sneer. "I would never hurt my brother."

Mr. Abney took a moment to reply. "You said that Jasper's friends sometimes hurt Malcolm as well. Are they not your friends as well?"

She shook her head no. "Will, and Tim are his; I don't even like them to be honest." And that rat, Dora, telling the Copper everything – Meredith bet she didn't even resist, she just started blubbering when she knew she was caught. So much for being best friends.

"Is there anyone in school you are fond of?"

"Nobody really interests me."

"What about your cousins?"

"They're not really fond of me – and they make sure that the whole year knows it, too."

"Does that affect how you make friends?"

A pause, and then Meredith said in a barely audible tone, "I do have friends."

"Are they good friends?"

Meredith thought about the question; it was a stupid question, really. But they didn't really have much in common besides all of their fathers being in the Service; and they were all in the sailing club; and even when she told them no, he was off limits today, they _still_ found some way to torment Malcolm. And then Finlay or Nell would get cross at _her_ for not being able to control them, as if it was her fault that Malcolm was going around making himself an easy target for them! It wasn't fair; she got blamed for everything.

"We have fun."

"Would they be there if you needed them?"

"Yes," she replied shortly, feeling her cheeks redden.

She got even warmer as Mr. Abney didn't say anything to that; she didn't like the way he was looking at her, as if he could read her thoughts. Eventually he spoke softly, his head tilted to the side.

"What I'm hearing Meredith, is that you don't really have anyone at the moment who makes you feel safe – your Grandparents can be harsh; your parents aren't really around; you feel you can't leave your boyfriend no matter how much you may want to; and if you don't get on with your cousins, or Will, or Tim, or Dora, then I'm worried about you being isolated in school. And you, you deserve to feel safe, Meredith. Would that be an accurate assessment."

She could feel a stinging pressure building behind her eyes; none of that was true – she was safe, she had friends and people who cared about her, her Grandparents cared about her, they were just cross sometimes. What he said about her parents, she could probably agree with. They weren't around.

"I have friends," she insisted, as one traitorous tear slipped down her cheek, "I have lots of friends – and I'm a Prefect, and I have lots of friends in the Sailing Club, and, and –" she took a deep breath, and more, many more, tears cascaded down her cheeks. "They're just, they just –" she cut herself sharply off, burying her face in one hand has she began to cry in earnest.

Stupid. She felt stupid. Why had she thought this was a good idea? Because she'd thought Thornton's plan was a stupid one, that's why, and that there was no way he and his Team of the Soulless could convince a judge that this was all a misunderstanding – and she wasn't going down with her Grandparents, or with Jasper; family loyalty be damned. The messages her Grandfather had sent her had convinced her that she needed to look out for herself. He'd do the same, given half a chance, she knew that.

Something nudged her elbow.

"Here," Mr. Abney said. He'd moved to the chair beside her and was offering her a box of tissues. "Everything you tell, tell, tell me is going to be kept strictly confidential; and I can see how difficult this is for you. Sometimes, in situations like this, it may be hard to admit what's really going on. And that it shouldn't even be going on, but we're so used to it that we can't see it. We can't even see that some of our own behaviour may not be quite right. To you understand what I'm trying to say to you?"

"I haven't done anything," Meredith said thickly, not taking the box of tissues. Mr. Abney put it within reach on the table. "I'm the one who looks after Malcolm! He's pathetic, he'd be lost without me!"

"How do you look after him?"

"He barely speaks, he's such an easy target."

"And do you ever try to toughen him up?"

Meredith whipped around angrily; her face was red and blotchy from the crying. Mr. Abney started at the speed. "No," she insisted, "It's not like that; I _protect_ him!"

"And do you ever get cross with him?"

Meredith spluttered. "You don't understand, he's difficult!"

"Tell me about what happened last year, just after Easter. Your father took Malcolm camping," he prompted, "Tell me what happened when they came back."

"Nothing happened," Meredith said hotly.

"What about the scar on Malcolm's arm?" Mr. Abney pressed. He reached into the stack of papers he'd taken out before they'd began speaking and pulled out a picture. It was a forearm. There was a scar spelling out 'faggot' in capital letters on it.

Meredith felt like a stone dropped into her stomach, and she was getting lightheaded. "I don't know what that is."

"It's Malcolm's arm; he said you did it."

"He's lying; he's always lying, he always wants to get me in trouble."

"Who did it then?"

"Jasper probably," she replied, turning away from the picture.

"Who held him down while Jasper cut his arm?"

"Tim and Will, I'd say."

"What about Dora?"

"Probably there as well."

"Why did you come here?" Mr. Abney asked, not unkindly, "To make sure I heard your side of the story?"

"I'm trying to tell you my side of the story, but you're calling me a liar," she said waspishly, "I don't do anything to Malcolm."

"And who forced him to drink a litre of milk? Who, who, who gave him allergens when you both were small?"

"That was an accident –"

"Then why did it only happen when you were home from school?"

"I don't, I don't know –"

"And who stripped him starkers and tied him to goalposts overnight?"

"That was Jasper!"

"Finlay told me he heard you bragging about it the next –"

"He's lying!" Meredith had turned around in her chair to look him dead on now. "I don't why he is, but he's lying! I would never hurt Malcom!"

"The police have plenty of evidence to say other-otherwise," Mr. Abney replied calmly. "Your cousins, your sister, Malcolm's medical records, not to mention what Malcolm himself has told me."

"And of course you'll believe them over me," Meredith said unhappily, "Everyone always believes him over me."

"Do your parents ever believe him over you?"

"All the time."

"That's not what they said."

"I told you, my cousins are lying!"

"I meant, I meant your parents. They said that they didn't know anything about what was going on."

"But –"

"But," Mr. Abney continued, "Your cousins said they told their parents; your aunts and uncles have all said that they told your parents, your sister said that they tried to tell your parents. And now you're telling me that they did know, and that they were taking Malcolm's side."

"Well they were," Meredith said. She was starting to feel the net closing in… she shouldn't have come here…

"And what would they do, if, if, if Malcolm, or Madeline told them that you hurt them?"

"They would…" Meredith started, "They would…"

"What would they do? Or _say_ , even?"

Her heart was heavy in her chest, and the stone in the pit of her stomach was preventing her from taking in one full breath. What did they always do on police programmes at this point?

They would make a deal.

Her Grandparents were going down, but she wasn't going down with them.

"They care more about Malcolm than they do about me," Meredith said, "Even if they never believe him; he's Dad's First Mate, and Mum's little artist." She sat back in her chair, staring straight ahead, trying to stem a new flood of tears. "Nothing can ruin their image of their perfect little family."

"Does that make you cross?" She scoffed in reply. "Do you ever take it out on Malcolm?"

She nodded, screwing up her face as she started to cry afresh.

This was officially the worst day of her life.


End file.
